


Arenas Temporis

by thorduna



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Healing, Infinity Gems, King Thor, M/M, Mystery, Mysticism, Past Abuse, Past Lives, Rape Aftermath, Reincarnation, Sexual Slavery, well is it ending when it never ends for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/pseuds/thorduna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Thor Odinson suffers a curse. </i>
</p><p>Thor remembers many lives spent by Loki's side. He is not going to accept that this life could be different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with the idea of a character going through various incarnations and knowing about it for a while. Then I read some romance novels on my vacation and BOOM, this was born. I wouldn't say that what happens is breaking the fourth wall, but I'm sure that you as readers will see a lot of familiar stuff when Thor is reminiscing. 
> 
> Also, Loki has it really shitty in this one. Thor will probably take a while to realize the extent of help that Loki needs, but he is never actively doing the hurting indicated in the tags.
> 
> And last but not least, thanks so much to sheilatakesabow and loki-on-mjolnir for encouraging me! This is for you.

_Now the question falls to you, my friend_  
_No begining has no end_  
_Will we ever learn, will the world still turn,_  
_Will the circle start again?_

[ _The Circle_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9dJ-LYN6dqM)

 

They call him a 'stormy' lord instead of _storm_ lord (or the god of thunder, as they should) behind his back. He knows where that moniker is coming from: he is unhappy – has been unhappy for centuries, in fact – and he has no patience nor reason to hide it.

 

Thor Odinson suffers a curse.

 

The curse is not the reason for his unhappiness, at least not on its own.

 

He also tends not to call it a _curse_ when he's in a better mood.

 

He sits on the throne in the Great hall, steady streams of visitors and diplomats coming to pay their respects. None of them realize that he is capable, willing, and more than a little inclined to burn the realms to the ground.

 

Thor Odinson lives his twenty-second life. Twenty-one times the universe was reborn – and he in the midst of it – and twenty one times he's loved and fought his brother Loki.

 

In truth, Loki is not _always_ his brother. Sometimes, he is a charming Jotun prince, scarred and hardened, ready to draw Thor into a fight or tumble him into the sheets. Often, they are raised alongside each other by their parents, as they were the first time that Thor remembers. Their feuds are small or big. Sometimes they die of old age, sometimes they slaughter each other. Sometimes, their touches remain fraternal, other times they fuck as soon as they bodies allow them.

 

And through it all, Thor remains aware. Only him.

 

But this time... Thor has lived for centuries and there is no sign of his heart. It's as though the universe is lacking the most important aspect and Thor cannot stand for it.

 

A large party from Alfheim is finishing their speech, a pile of gifts left at the foot of Thor's throne. He nods at them, inclining his head automatically in thanks.

 

Thor Odinson is a brilliant politician, a strong king.

 

He has enough experience to be the best.

 

His awareness doesn't come right away in each life. It would be too much for a child's mind to handle. Neither does he remember every detail, every moment. His memory is subject to all of its usual frailties. But the memories eventually always come to him and he always remembers.

 

The pathway to the throne is cleared and the party from Jotunheim is announced. Thor cares not. There is no prince Loki in Jotunheim; he has searched thoroughly. Asgard has good relations with every realm that is subject to intelligent rule. Thor knows all the tricks to achieve this and he does so with ruthless efficiency. There are figures that change in his lives, but there are some that remain hopelessly predictable and he is used to taking advantage of it, often for the simple reason of securing many decades of simple, slow life at Loki's side.

 

But there is no Loki now and Thor is merely _this_ – a feared monarch that has achieved everything even though he cares nothing for it.

 

The towering figures appear, walking slowly through the hall. Thor's interest is piqued almost against his will. Jotunheim is... volatile. When Loki is raised by his birth parents, Thor never knows what to expect and frankly, it usually excites him.

There is a new rule in Jotunheim and this is the first time that Thor meets Helblindi as a king and not merely as a prince. Farbauti and Laufey, Loki's birth parents, are both dead. The party surrounding Helblindi is huge – not only in appearance as they tower over everyone else, but in number also.

 

“King Thor,” Helblindi inclines his head a mere inch – he would move more were he chasing a fly away. “Greetings. I thank you for the invitation.”

 

Helblindi pauses and slowly looks around. Thor straightens, his instincts telling him there will be more than mere formality here.

 

“The realms are lucky to have Asgard's generous protection,” Helblindi continues and a slow murmur goes through the crowd. One does not need to be an excellent diplomat to grasp the slight sarcasm under such proclamation. “We are all glad to offer you gifts in ex-change. I have personally given thought to what I might present you with to make sure you saw the extent of my friendship and I have overseen the preparation of a gift that I hope will be like no other.”

 

The tension in the room is palpable now and Thor stares at Helblindi, severity twisting his brow. The gift will be an insult; he is sure of that. Question remains – how big will the insult be? If the offence is grave enough, Thor might be forced to attack right there, in the Great Hall, during a diplomatic event. Perhaps that would give him the excuse he needs to let a war rage and end this miserable turn of a life...

 

His thoughts are cut short as Helblindi gestures and the tall Giants parts, revealing a smaller figure in their midst.

 

_Loki_.

 

Thor knows it must be him before he even gets a chance to truly _look_. So he is a prince of Jotunheim after all, Thor's mind races. But how-

 

No. It is not so. Loki steps forward, head bowed and a sick sensation fills Thor's stomach.

 

“I present you a pleasure slave, trained in all manner of skill,” Helblindi says, only barely keeping his voice from sounding smug.

 

He doesn't say his name, only gestures and Loki drops to his knees smoothly. He is fully naked, only wearing bracelets – or cuffs – from silver fox fur on his wrists and ankles. Thor forces his gaze away from Loki's cowed posture and onto Helblindi.

 

Asgard doesn't have slaves. In fact, Thor has fought to dismantle slavery in Svartalfheim many centuries ago. Therein lies the insult, Thor suspects. How Loki comes into this – whether he was born a prince and betrayed thus – Thor doesn't know.

 

Oh, but he will find out.

 

“I thank you. I will be glad to employ your countryman in my service,” Thor responds calmly, putting emphasis on the word _employ_.

 

Helblindi merely scoffs and nudges Loki with his foot, almost sending him flying forward and Loki scrambles to his feet, head still down. Thor's stomach clenches with swirling emotions – rage at seeing Loki treated so, a desire to finally look at the beloved face after so long, impatience aimed at the entire court – no, the entire _universe_... Loki scurries towards the throne, taking the steps until he arrives at the third one and kneels again. The stairs are of course too narrow for him to face Thor, or indeed the hall, so he's knelt sideways, head bowed as he sits on his heels and folds his hands in his lap. Thor stares at the familiar profile, now left so expressionless.

 

The Giants leave. Thor can tell that Helblindi is not satisfied and he knows he will have to deal with such impertinence later, but then it's time for the visitors from Vanaheim and Thor forces himself to sit still through it.

 

Loki seems to have no such problems. He kneels, perfectly motionless. Thor's gaze is drawn to him often even as the ambassador from Vanaheim speaks and he likely is not the only one in the room who is looking.

 

Thor is growing steadily more unsettled. He is well used to Loki in the blue skin of Jotunheim, but there are changes to him. He is very thin, for one. Thor knows Loki to always be lacking in fat, but not in muscle. But this Loki's limbs seem to have very little strength in them and the sight makes Thor's stomach churn.

 

It's a disgrace. Thor's hand curls into a fist and something in him snaps. Mindless of the still speaking Vanir, he seeks Fandral out with his eyes in the small crowd to the right of his throne and jerks his head toward Loki.

 

“Cover him,” he mouths at Fandral, knowing that his command will be understood. Then he turns back to the ambassador and gives him a bland smile. The dark-haired Vanir seems unperturbed.

 

Fandral steps forward, loosening his cape and he approaches Loki matter-of-factly and throws the dark blue garment over Loki's shoulders. Loki recoils – his first true reaction so far. His head snaps back and he glances at Fandral briefly before he turns to Thor with an expression of wide eyed horror.

 

Twenty two lives later and Thor is still struggling to understand his brother. Fandral walks away; the cape stays on Loki's back, granting him at least a modicum of modesty. His nakedness was highly inappropriate in such setting, a fact that was certainly not missed by the entirety of the court, though it was not in the forefront of Thor's mind – at least at first. And now he can't even be sure if Loki appreciated the action of being covered.

 

A feast is planned and Thor stands up to extend the invitation to all those who are staying in Asgard, mainly the parties from Alfheim and Vanaheim. The rest of the realms are not quite as friendly. He waits for the Great hall to file out before stepping slowly down the steps to where Loki is kneeling. Up close, Thor can see him shaking underneath Fandral's cloak.

 

He dearly hopes this is all some farce. Perhaps Loki was sent here by Helblindi to attack Thor – it would not be the first time that Jotunheim-raised Loki tried to assassinate Thor. He once even succeeded and Thor almost smiles at the memory. His other two attempts were foiled by the fact that Thor recognized him right away while Loki's plans relied on stealth and deception.

 

He crouches next to Loki and spends a moment looking at his shadowed face, then reaches out, offering his hand palm up to him. “Come. You've had a long journey.”

 

Loki stares at Thor's hand like he doesn't know what to do with it. Thor waits and when Loki doesn't move, he wriggles his fingers a bit. “Give me your hand.”

 

Finally Loki does and Thor squeezes Loki's cool hand in his own with a quiet breath of relief.

 

Despite the unsettling circumstances, Thor's heart swells. _Finally_.

 

Fandral and Volstagg are waiting for him; Hogun is likely talking to the other Vanir and Sif is charged with security.

 

Thor helps Loki up and then releases him, leaving him to loosely hold the cape about himself.

 

“Find me Auga and have her prepare rooms for our guest.”

 

“I shall go,” Volstagg says. The large man's tone is light, but there is a crease of worry on his forehead, one that quite matches Fandral's despite their vastly different looks. “And I will make sure to tell her send a word to the kitchens.”

 

Ah. Trust Volstagg to try and fatten Loki up. He always does. Fandral, Thor is sure, is meanwhile disgruntled because the amorous man loves nothing more than the act of courting and seduction and is insulted by the idea of forced relations.

 

Thor is loathe to go, but he knows he must. “This is Fandral,” he says to Loki, “he will escort you to your rooms. Fandral, find me when you are done.”

 

Fandral nods while Loki doesn't react at all, save perhaps for lowering his head even more. Thor looks at him for several seconds more, heart aching. Then he departs.

 

* * *

 

Thor stops his pacing, tapping his lips with the tip of his finger.

 

It has been two days since Loki's arrival and Thor has not seen him in that time, held back by his duties, but more importantly by an odd feeling of anxiety.

 

_Jitters_.

 

And something else odd happened too. Fandral was eyeing him during the dinner feast and Thor makes a snap decision to call for him. There is a general sense of unrest regarding Helblindi's “gift,” though all his advisers are concerned with is the insult from Jotunheim's king. Loki himself seems to be in the forefront of no one's mind but Thor's, but Fandral has been the one to install him in his rooms and Thor is curious.

 

Fandral arrives and Thor pours them each a goblet of wine.

 

“Speak your mind,” he tells his friend without preamble after they've taken a sip. Fandral is quiet at first and sits down, loosening the collar on his fashionable jacket.

 

“Helblindi is a pig.”

 

Thor's eyebrows rise. “Crude talk for one as smooth as you, my friend.”

 

“It took a while before a set of chambers was prepared to Auga's standards, so the Jotun and I stood around. His conduct... chilled me. Then I took him there and he was... confused to say at the least.”

 

Thor opens his mouth to ask for more, but Fandral stops him in his tracks. “The whole situation is disgraceful and yet you seem happier than ever.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“There is change in you. Sif noticed too.”

 

Thor straightens in his chair, staring his friend down. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

Fandral's voice is light and devoid of almost any discernible tone, but it is clear that he means to get an answer anyway. “What do you plan on doing with him?”

 

“I have not decided yet,” Thor shrugs brazenly. There is something coiling in him – a defensiveness. Loki is _his_. They always come together no matter the circumstances. Thor has had his face spat into and his teeth bloodied (the latter once by his own father) whilst being yelled at and denounced for perversion and incest. He tends not to care about what people think.

 

Fandral purses his lips and says nothing, giving Thor ample time to calm down. Thor does, eventually, and sighs. Fandral has been a true friend to him for more lives than he even knows.

 

“ _Pleasure slave_. It's nonsense. Do you truly think I would exploit him as such?”

 

“I would never think you capable of it had I not seen myself the way you looked at him.”

 

Thor gets up and walks off, the words rattling him more than he wants to let on. He thought he was more careful, but clearly the centuries of feeling bereft had left him more exposed than he suspected.

 

Of course he _yearns_. He yearns for Loki so badly that breathing troubles him sometimes. But it is not all carnal – not nearly. He wants his brother's company, he wants the pleasure of seeing his face daily, he wants to converse and laugh and argue. And now these desires have trickled through – enough of them for his close friends to notice and interpret them badly.

 

“I admire your honour, Fandral,” he says, facing the window. “I am deeply intrigued by... Helblindi's gift and I feel that perhaps his presence might shed a light on some of our relations with Jotunheim.” Most of those words were lies, but what he plans on saying next will not be, so he turns and looks Fandral in the eye. “But I do not mean to cause him any harm or abuse him in the way you suggest. You may rest easy.”

 

* * *

 

The worst of his confusion has been solved by a long rest and the solitude that allowed him to think. Some of the puzzle pieces came together and he has calmed.

 

Asgard is grand and rich, filled with luxury. There is wealth and plenty for everyone – it must be, as even the walls of the royal palace are covered with gold. As such, he should not be that surprised to be led to a beautiful and large set of rooms. At first, he thought they might be the rooms of the king – or perhaps of Fandral, the man charged with guarding him – but he was rid of the notion by the man's repulsed look and he cursed his own stupidity.

 

He probably insulted him, and by extension, the king too. Somehow, he couldn't even find it in himself to be surprised that he cocked things up so promptly.

 

Meals are brought to him four times a day and, as he carefully eats all he can, he recalls the cape thrown over him when he was presented to the king and the mention of food from the large, red man. It crystallizes into a realization – he is not attractive as he is.

 

Well, if it is his thinness that bothers them, he will eat. He likes to eat, except that he hardly ever got a chance to in his life.

 

A surge of bitterness comes over him. He knows that king Helblindi doesn't mean for him to succeed – doesn't expect that he will please king Thor. It is said that _nothing can_ and he knows he possesses nothing to change that, thin or not.

 

Then he feels guilty even for his private thoughts. He is lucky to be still breathing.

 

Or so he was told.


	2. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow. Thank you so much for the overwhelming response to the first chapter of this. Hope this one won't be a disappointment.

Thor knows he is ridiculous, but he still checks the mirror twice before he departs from his chambers. This is the third day since Loki was presented to him and he is not able to stay away any longer. The matters of state have calmed, somewhat. Thor had pronounced that Loki will be employed by his household, a free man, and paid, so that none may claim that Thor keeps slaves when it suits him whilst forbidding everyone else from doing it, and that for now, Helblindi's insult will be ignored. He argued that as a new, young king, Helblindi had to show some claws to pacify his supporters and quiet his opponents back home, and that it was no concern of theirs, not until further steps to truly threaten Asgard were taken.

 

Now it is late afternoon and he sets out on a short journey from the long hall where his chambers are located, down one flight of stairs, and onto another hall where many doors to smaller sets of chambers, usually reserved for guests, can be found. Thor knows they are all very nice, albeit impersonal, and equipped with a beautiful view over the city.

 

He steels himself and knocks, heart pounding.  _His Loki_ . What troubles has his beautiful brother gone through now? Is he a slippery spy for the Jotunheim crown? Thor is itching for that game of push and pull. He knows it's not healthy, but were Loki to slip him a goblet of poison, he would drink it with laughter. Or perhaps Loki could play the part of an agent of seduction and then try and stick a knife through Thor's ribs. Thor would relish the fight, twisting Loki's slim wrist in his hand and ridding him of the weapon before pulling him flush to himself and-

 

After a cautious pause, the door opens a sliver and through it Thor is met with Loki's shocked, red-eyed gaze.

 

“Good day,” Thor says after a beat. “May I come in?”

 

Loki jumps away from the door, letting it fall open and slides down to his knees. Thor rushes in and reaches down for him, sickened.

 

“No, don't... come on up.”

 

His wonderings as to whether Loki is here in another capacity than merely as an enslaved young man evaporate from Thor's mind and he is loathe to see him like this, frightened and cowed on his knees.

 

“Come on up,” he repeats, grasping Loki's too thin upper arms firmly and dragging him to his feet. Loki glances to him as he gets his feet underneath him and finally their eyes meet up close. Thor is made undone by that brief contact and the closeness allows his nostrils to fill with Loki's scent, so loved and well known. He pauses and they stare at each other. Thor knows that Loki is very clearly frightened of him, but somehow the knowledge melts away in the face that he is finally seeing him after _centuries_ of loneliness.

 

He's never had to suffer this long. So often Loki is there before Thor can even talk or walk – or shit at will for that matter – or at the very least they meet as young, raunchy men and their escapades fill Thor with mirth and warmth for decades to come. But now... Thor is in the middle of his life at best and while usually age doesn't frighten him, he is feeling the weight of all those lonely years.

 

And Loki... he looks young to Thor, and too thin, and so uncharacteristically scared, but for a moment, Thor doesn't give a damn about anything. He yanks Loki to himself and kisses him hard on the lips.

 

There is a moment of shocked rigidity from Loki before he opens his mouth under Thor's, his lips going slack and welcoming. For one amazing second Thor hopes that everything will be as it was. He remembers dying in his latest life, old and withered upon a battlefield, flashing Loki a grin and-

 

Loki is shaking in Thor's embrace, his lips parted but unmoving and the uncertain reality of this lifetime crashes down on Thor and he leans back in a hurry.

 

There was no knife between his ribs. No smiling invitation to drink a goblet of wine.

 

_I have overseen the preparation of a gift that I hope will be like no other._ Helblindi's words come to his mind unbidden and the promise he's given to Fandral echoes at their heels.

 

“I...” Thor breathes, still holding Loki's arms. Loki looks horrified but then shakes his head.

 

“I'm sorry, my lord. Please, come in. There's a bed...”

 

“No, no,” Thor shakes his head, his transgression very clear him to him as he finally lets Loki go and watches him shrink away in terror. He realizes this is the first time Loki has spoken to him. His voice sounds... weak. It was trembling.

 

He needs to come to terms with the fact that their situation is like it never was before and he needs to do to  _right away_ before he forfeits any chance of happiness with Loki in this life.

 

He searches for the right words and they elude him.

 

He coughs instead awkwardly. “Is there wine?”

 

Loki nods and all but flees towards a side table where a pitcher and goblets are standing. Thor can see that it is still full, the wine kept cool and protected by a basic spell that the servants normally use. Loki fills one goblet with shaking hands.

 

“Please, have some too,” Thor says when Loki appears to be done. Loki nods mutely and does as told.

 

That in itself sours the wine on Thor's tongue. He sits heavily on one of the chairs in the sitting arrangement of the parlour. Loki stands there before taking a sip of his wine, then he slides down to his knees in front of Thor, looking up at him. Thor chokes on his drink and quickly puts it away on a nearby table.

 

“Get up. _Please_ , get up,” he urges Loki, leaning forward to once again pull him up. “Sit. Sit here on the chair.”

 

Loki does and Thor looks at him, breathing heavily. Loki is dressed now in trousers of light black material and nothing else.

 

“Please,” Thor stresses. “Do not kneel before me. Ever. There is no need.”

 

Once Loki is gingerly seated across from him, Thor reaches for his goblet again and gulps most of it down.

 

“I do not know what you have been told, but slavery is not allowed in Asgard. You are not a slave, there is no such position here. You will be employed as a member of my household.”

 

This part is easy and Loki nods lightly, his eyes cast down into his goblet. It doesn't appear that Thor's words made an impact on him.

 

“I... I have no explanation for accosting you just now, I can only offer my apology,” he says lamely.

 

Slowly, Loki looks up to him. “It is why I am here, in your... employ.”

 

“No,” Thor says firmly. “It won't be that way.”

 

His words are rendered useless by his actions, he knows that – he sees it written in the tension of Loki's shoulders.

 

_What's been done to you?_ He longs to ask.

 

“How old are you?” he asks instead.

 

Loki looks away and shrugs with one shoulder delicately, a motion well known to Thor. His breath hitches.

 

“Around two centuries, my lord, I do not know the exact number.”

 

And that is so wrong. They are supposed to be of the same age.

 

What else is different? What has changed? What if, even were Thor to slit his own throat and die on the spot, something fundamental has changed and in his next life he won't find Loki again? Or will have to wait millennia for him?

 

“And your parents? What was their circumstance?”

 

Loki chances a quick glance at him from beneath his lashes; action that Thor has so often seen done in a flirtatious manner. There is no doubt that this is nothing like that.

 

“I never knew my parents. I was raised by an old Giantess in the mountains for a couple of years, until I could fend for myself. Then...”

 

A foundling. How often it is Loki's fate. He could be of royal blood, still, though.

 

“Then?” Thor prompts.

 

“I was... found. Trained.”

 

He says nothing more and Thor lets it be, sensing the acute misery and discomfort radiating from him. Fandral called Helblindi names after spending mere minutes in Loki's company and he is of the same inclination, except he longs for violence rather than insults.

 

Other than that, Thor has absolutely no idea what to do. He can't touch Loki, not now, not without his permission. Words and assurances seem to ring empty, but Thor hopes that if repeated...

 

“Have you been out of these rooms?” Thor asks, his words careless as ideas swirl through his mind. Loki jerks in alarm.

 

“What? No, of course not, I wouldn't-”

 

“That's not how I meant it,” Thor tries to soothe him. “You are not confined here. Come, I will show you a nearby garden.”

 

He gets up and so does Loki, still looking spooked. Thor glances at him.

 

“You were given clothes, yes?”

 

Loki nods.

 

“A tunic, then, perhaps...?”

 

Once again he has to remind himself that while Loki's bare skin is more familiar to him than even his own, his attire should be more complete to help dismiss the idea that he will be enslaved here in Asgard as he was on Jotunheim.

 

“Of course. I'm sorry, my lord.”

 

With that needless apology on his lips, Loki bolts to the adjoining bedroom and comes back in a pretty embroidered dark red tunic, smoothing it down where it overlaps his tight trousers. Thor bites his lip. He's  _gorgeous_ .

 

Sometimes, he tells Loki of the circle he – they – go through. Loki always believes him. Once, they were old men, bones aching and senses failing. They lived in a plain cottage, finding pleasure in sitting by the fire side by side, liquor cups in their withered hands. And Thor talked and talked, telling Loki of all that they've been through together.

 

At first, Loki called him an old fool, but then quieted and listened.

 

Thor only got half way through his stories before Loki closed his eyes, stilling. He followed soon after and later opened his eyes to a happy gurgle of a babe with wisps of black hair on top of its round head.

 

_This_ Loki wouldn't call him a fool. This Loki would probably merely be frightened of the fact that he is in a mercy of a king who is not only fearsome, but also _mad_.

 

They set out and Thor struggles to find something to speak about.

 

“You may stroll the palace and city whenever you wish,” he says. “The guards or servants will give you directions should you need them.”

 

He isn't met with much in a way of reaction and they are quiet until they arrive at a garden. It is not one of his late mother's, merely a dutifully maintained public one that any resident of the court can visit. Thor's heart aches when he remembers Frigga and realizes that this Loki will not meet her and get a chance to be loved by her.

 

She could always soothe him the best. But now, Thor is on his own.

 

He tries not to be obvious when he watches Loki carefully take in his surroundings. His head was bowed – as is usual for him, Thor notes sadly – when they started out on one of the gravel paths, but he is looking up now, clearly amazed.

 

“It's beautiful,” he says in a whoosh of breath; his first unprompted words.

 

Thor beams.

 

He knows he is repeating himself, but Loki's assumption that he was under some sort of house arrest has rattled him, and so he speaks anyway: “Visit it whenever you wish. It is close to your chambers. There are more gardens in the palace though. I would be happy to show you.”

 

With one last hurried glance around, Loki's gaze is back at his toes and he nods. “As my lord wishes.”

 

_Milord_ wishes for Loki to tell him to go fuck himself or knee him in the nuts. Anything but this.

 

He says nothing of the sort, of course, it's just a wild, exasperated thought flitting through his aching head. He slept fitfully the night prior. They stroll in strained silence. Every now and then, Loki reaches out to touch a flower blossom, but he doesn't speak and his shoulders are hunched forward miserably.

 

Thor knows he is being terribly selfish. Loki doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to take a walk with Thor as though they are old friends-

 

_We_ are _, though._ Thor grumbles to himself. It's no use. He can't reveal their connection to Loki. Even under... normal circumstances, if anything can be called that in Thor's lives, he hesitates to do so. It's unthinkable now. 

 

“I'm afraid my duties are calling me,” he says formally when he cannot bear the tension any longer. “Would you like to stay here a while or should I accompany you to your chambers?”

 

It's politeness that makes him add the question and he doesn't think twice about it. They stop in a shade of a curly, old oak and Loki plays with the hem of the pretty red tunic he is wearing.

 

“I... Whatever my lord wishes.”

 

Thor really doesn't mean to do it, but that phrase is setting his teeth on edge. Thunder rumbles overhead, deafeningly loud, before he can even take a breath and tell Loki that that wasn't what he asked. Loki shrieks and ducks so suddenly that it drives him to his knees.

 

Thor realizes he might have to pull Loki to his feet for the third time within the hour and the thought ruins the bright and sunny weather of the day for good as clouds roll over the sky above the palace.

 

“Stand up and answer the question, please,” Thor says with a forced calm.

 

He is not mad at Loki, not really, but his control is slipping.

 

_So_ long without his brother. So many years of searching and desperation – and for what? Loki wasn't even born when Thor was looking and when he finally came to this world, Thor didn't find him in time. The result of his failure is on his knees before him, cowering.

 

Loki finally gets up, shoulders shaking. Thor can't see his face, but he is very certain he's crying. The knowledge tears at his heart, but there is little he can do now. He called the storm and frightened Loki and it's of no importance that he didn't mean to.

 

“Come,” he says softly, pressing lightly at Loki's back to steer him in the right direction. “It seems the weather is no longer suitable for a stroll.”

 


	3. Saebjorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among other things, we get Loki's musings again and they could be upsetting, as indicated in the tags.

There is a firm knock on the door of the ante-chamber of his rooms and Thor calls out his admission, feeling positively nervous.

 

Two days ago he escorted Loki back to his chambers while pretending not to see that Loki was quietly sobbing, his back shaking underneath Thor's gentle touch.

 

It was not the first time in Thor's memory when Loki was scared of the storm. How many times have the brothers huddled together underneath blankets, Thor giggling excitedly even as he pressed his little brother's shaking form to himself, trying to shush him and convince him that the lightening and thunder were nothing to be afraid of? Except that they were children on those occasions.

 

That line of thinking brought Thor to a realization that had him rushing to his bathing chamber and spitting acidic saliva into the sink. A _child_. Of course. What are two centuries in the face of the long lives of gods and giants? Loki told him that he was raised in the mountains by an old woman, surely they were alone there. Jotunheim's harshness could not sustain many giants in one place. And then he was... caught, as per his own words. What did he know of the worlds? What did he know of _Thor_?

 

The door opens to reveal Loki and a guard who fetched Thor's invitation to him. Thor smiles and gestures.

 

“Loki! Come in, please.”

 

Loki stands clock-still as the guard bows his head and departs. Loki whirls to look after him and then back at Thor.

 

“Loki...?”

 

Has he frightened him so badly that he will not even enter a room when Thor is there? That thought stings and once again Thor quietly curses his temper getting the best of him. It's almost as though he can still hear echoes of that startling shot of thunder that scared Loki to the point of tears.

 

But then Loki does step forward, but he is giving Thor a questioning look, full of incredulity – an expression that bears more than a hint of his personality as Thor knows it.

 

“What is it?” Thor asks kindly.

 

“My lord, were you... speaking to me just now?”

 

Thor is confused by the question, but tries to be perfectly cordial anyway.

 

“Yes, of course... the guard- well. His duty was done.” He can only assume that Loki misheard and thought Thor was addressing the other man.

 

“But if I may- what did you call me?” Loki asks softly, looking at his hands. Thor's blood stops cold in his veins.

 

_What?_

 

“I called you... by your name...” he trails off. Then he catches himself, ducking his head slightly. Ah. No one told him Loki's name actually, not Helblindi, and not Loki himself. It's a careless slip up, but surely not too bad of a one.

 

“But that wasn't my name,” Loki blurts out and then slaps a palm over his mouth.

 

Thor is hot and cold all over in turns, as he processes this, staring.

 

“What do you mean that's not your name?” he asks slowly. His embarrassment from letting on that he knew something he really shouldn't vanishes, replaced by growing horror. “What _is_ , then?”

 

Loki hesitates for a long while. “Saebjorn.”

 

Thor's eyebrows rise, he can't help it. Loki is playing with the edge of his tunic again and looking anywhere but at Thor. The sight is so familiar.

 

“You don't sound very convinced,” he notes lightly, because Loki _doesn't_. It could be just nerves from having to speak to Thor at all that is making Loki act like that, but Thor doesn't want to believe it. It's preposterous that his brother should be named anything but Loki.

 

“It's my name. Saebjorn, I mean,” Loki insists and Thor allows himself to smile.

 

“And who gave you this name?” Thor presses on, though he keeps his tone conversational.

 

“I did,” Loki admits after a long while and Thor's brief amusement at seeing Loki lie so clumsily evaporates. He couldn't help it – Loki is tall and grown, but his mannerism is so much like what Thor well remembers from their many childhoods spent together. All those long years before Loki's tongue becomes honed and skilled in tales...

 

“Come sit with me,” he sighs and leads Loki outside onto the balcony. It is furnished with comfortable chairs around a small table laden with fruit and wine.

 

Thankfully, this time Loki sits down on a chair without prompting once Thor himself is seated. He lets Loki look around the balcony – it's very picturesque, shaded from the worst of the direct sunlight by light, white draperies and it's filled with potted plants that smell sweetly. The view over the city is even better than the one in the rooms that Loki occupies, of course. Thor pours two goblets of wine, pushes one in front of Loki and then grabs a plate to pile it with the fruits that he knows Loki likes, sliding it towards him too.

 

Loki does look mildly disconcerted about Thor waiting on him but, predictably, he doesn't protest.

 

“So,” Thor begins once Loki has taken a sip of wine and followed it by nibbling on several blueberries. “Your name.”

 

Loki's eyebrows twitch, almost forming a frown and he bites his lip. Thor thinks of something to ask, but Loki beats him to it and speaks first, looking up to meet Thor's gaze.

 

“The giantess that raised me had no name, so she didn't give me one either.”

 

Thor is struck silent and thinks about this for a while. Thinks about what it must be like to be given no name. To be no one.

 

No wonder Loki jumped at a chance to name himself. Saebjorn. It's a name that features in many tales. It's a little clumsy and to Thor utterly unsuitable for the creature sitting across from him, but that was probably not Loki's concern. Or he believes differently.

 

He tried to shape himself, fighting against the grim fates that were readied for him.

 

“And the giantess, was she kind?”

 

A rueful smile lifts the corner of Loki's lips for a second. “She fed me more often than not. Her house was my home.”

 

A strange reply, but perhaps it would have been stranger if Thor could predict what Loki was going to say at any given time.

 

“And Helblindi's men?”

 

Loki shivers visibly and a strawberry falls from his fingers back to his plate. He is not looking at Thor anymore. “No, they were definitely not kind, my lord.”

 

“I expect not,” Thor grumbles and his tone makes Loki chance another look. “How long were you in captivity?”

 

“I couldn't say. It... I do not know, my lord, I'm sorry. Years, I think.”

 

_Years_.

 

Battle plans form in Thor's mind. He wants to raze Jotunheim to the ground to make sure all those who have wronged Loki are punished. He gets up from the table and leans his hands on the railing, willing the clear air and light breeze to calm him.

 

His blood-thirsty line of thought is interrupted by Loki speaking softly to him. “Did they tell you to call me that- what you did just now? My lord?”

 

“No,” Thor says firmly and turns around. It would be a good excuse, a cover for his slip up. But he cannot possibly do it. He approaches Loki and crouches down in front of him, looking at the loved face closely. Loki's hair is merely chin-length, curling around his ears and framing his jaw. He reaches out, slowly, giving Loki time to lean back if he wants to, and cups his cheek softly, brushing his smooth, cool skin with his thumb. “No, no one told me your name, I'm sorry... it simply... you seemed like a Loki.”

 

Loki stares down at him, red eyes wide and so pretty. Distrustful, though. Thor gives one sweeping caress to Loki's cheek and then withdraws his hand, though he stays put, waiting for Loki's verdict.

 

“Loki,” he says slowly as though tasting the word. Then he shrugs and just a hint of smile – an expression that looks more like wonder than happiness – graces his face. “All right.”

 

Thor's face is split by his grin. “Thank you,” he says, giving Loki's knee a squeeze before getting to his feet and stepping away. He sits back on his chair and takes a gulp of his wine, unreasonable happiness beating in his chest.

 

“Do you know many other Lokis, my lord?” Loki asks, cautiously. Thor _does_ , of course he does, but there is something worrisome in Loki's tone, that tentativeness. He may have no skill in battle, and little honed skill in the way of words, but Thor knows what Loki is doing. He is gauging him, trying to understand and predict Thor's behaviour. He probably wonders what happens to those that Thor decides to call Loki. It's not an unreasonable suspicion, Thor tells himself. He must look like a complete mad-man to Loki.

 

This is no time to wax poetics or be abstract and say that yes, he knows Lokis.

 

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just you.”

 

* * *

 

The king is even more frightening that he could have imagined.

 

He thought he knew what awaited him in Asgard. He feared it, with weak knees and on the verge of vomiting, but he thought he understood it.

 

It's been repeated to him many times, after all.

 

According to all he knew, the king would fuck him – _rip him open more like_. Slap him around perhaps, if he was _too slow_ or _not pliant_ enough. Invite him to show him all that he's _learned_ and he would get on his knees and let himself be choked by his cock.

 

That's been all done to him, and more. In preparation, they said. That's what the king would want with him and that's what his life would be like, a pretty – but _not too pretty, don't think so highly of yourself, slut_ – pet in the kings lap.

 

Bruises, too, were a norm. He couldn't remember ever feeling so pain-free as in those two weeks before they took him to Asgard, when he was required to heal to look presentable. He had some brave moments as he watched the marks fade into nothing. He would try his best and maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. Surely the king wouldn't share him? He was just one man, after all. And through the haze of pain and repulsion and gut-wrenching fear, he maybe did remember something. A movement like this, a groan like that, it sped a man's pleasure up.

 

But he was wrong, so wrong.

 

He is torn between various theories and he muses about them, sitting on the ground next to his bed – an odd thought, that – leaning against the frame with his back. He is still being pushed to eat, to cover himself... the king kissed him and then changed his mind (he still feels like throwing up when he remembers that moment, the king's powerful grip holding him in place, his lips so demanding and harsh). He is undesirable.

 

And it's a relief, in a way. He doesn't want to be touched, doesn't want to be pushed on a mattress or onto the ground, doesn't want his legs held open... but if not this, then what will they – what will the king do with him? Is Asgard truly so rich that he will be simply forgotten here, in the beautiful, golden rooms, fed and clothed, without giving anything in return?

 

None of that is so easy. The king has taken an interest in him, an interest that he cannot gauge. He seems angry with Loki so often – he shivers when he remembers the feeling of sky exploding above him, feeling the wrath of the man before him. He was so certain that that was the end of him. But he also asks the oddest questions, questions that lead him to fear that he has become a part of something that he cannot possibly understand. Is it politics? Does king Thor expect him to know something about king Helblindi?

 

All he knows about his king that he was there on three different times to watch Loki be raped. _Trained_ , as he called it. He knows each time lasted hours and all his captors were tripping over themselves to show the king all that they could do to him.

 

He sits, watching the light fade as the day ends. Soon, a servant will come carrying plates overflowing with food.

 

“Lo-ki,” he says carefully, quietly.

 

The biggest mystery of all.

 

He likes the name, he can't help it, but it makes no sense and it scares him. Is it a name that his parents would have given him had they had the chance? How could the king know this?

 

Or does the king simply feel it is his right to shape and mould any person in his presence as he sees fit?

 

“But it _is_ his right,” he whispers to himself.

 

If the king wants a Loki, then he _will_ be Loki.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not sure when I will be able to update next because I'm going on vacation again. I should have the time to write, my internet connection could be a problem.. I will try though!


	4. Gilded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This_ late and _this_ short? Feel free to kick my ass.

Thor can see Sif narrowing her eyes at him from the corner of his eye. He pays it no mind for the time being and instead runs his fingers over the soft fabric of one of the many tunics that are assorted on the table in his sitting room. Dark reds, greens of all shades and the odd violets, along with a steady supply of blacks and greys are piled in neat stacks. Next to them, in a more modest amount, are trousers in subdued colours, mostly in black, but some off-black too, and one particularly nice green leather pair.

 

Sif looks away from him and reaches wordlessly into the pile, pulling out a tunic of sheer, see-through red material; it's a slip of a cloth really, meant to stretch tightly across the wearer's torso.

 

“Are you quite sure this will fit you?” she asks drily.

 

“Our Jotun guest came to us quite literally without a thread on his back,” he replies, matching her tone. Any other time he would have laughed; it was a well-aimed jest. “It would be amiss if he didn't provide for him.”

 

“Yes and it's perfectly normal for you to supervise a wardrobe fitting, especially when it's not even your own,” Sif continues.

 

Thor looks at her briefly. She is a trusted friend, always have been. One of these days he is going to have to snap out of his careless conduct and find some explanation to give her – and the others, too. He has been slipping, made bitter and volatile by Loki's absence, forgoing his usual habits and behaviour as he became more and more despondent, unhappy with the unusual turn of events in this life.

 

But now Loki is here and Thor owes it to him to do everything in his power to make sure his existence is pleasant. He knows from long experience that being suspected of wrong-doing and else distrusted by Sif and Warriors Three is not something that exactly makes Loki happy in the long run, no matter how much he might seem to enjoy riling them all up. And if he wishes to avoid it, he needs to explain himself.

 

“I do not know what Helblindi is planning,” he says, meeting Sif's eyes steadily. “But it has become apparent that Loki suffered a great deal in his hands. I would like to show him that no one means him harm here and hopefully, he will become our ally in case Helblindi is plotting something.”

 

Sif considers this for a long while, tossing away the tunic she has picked up. “And if this _Loki_ is part of that scheme?”

 

“Well, then,” Thor shrugs cheerfully. “The same applies. He will enjoy our hospitality and perhaps he will become less inclined to turn against us.”

 

“Hm,” Sif says shortly. She seems to have accepted Thor's words. For now.

 

“But still, Thor, you and _clothes_?”

 

* * *

 

Loki's reaction is not dissimilar to Sif's, though it is much quieter. Still, Thor sees clearly the look of incredulity on Loki's face as Thor comes into his chambers behind a line of servants who carry armfuls of clothing and immediately set to put their burdens away in a tidy fashion, filing the mostly empty wardrobes and cabinets in Loki's rooms.

 

Thor waits until the hustle dies down, covertly watching Loki as he all but gapes at the proceedings. And as such, he doesn't miss the fact that Loki seems to be growing steadily more upset.

 

At any other time, Thor would expect Loki to be mad because he didn't like the choices; that he disapproved of colours and fabrics. Or perhaps he could expect Loki, reminiscent of a bird ruffling his feathers or perhaps a hissing cat, to be affronted that Thor presumed to pick things for him to wear without asking his opinion – or indeed, just letting him make all the choices himself. This time, he already knows it's likely not either.

 

He knows what it is _not_ that is upsetting Loki, but that doesn't bring him much closer to knowing what it _is_.

 

As the last servant leaves with a bow, closing the door, and they are left alone, Thor attempts to smile at Loki.

 

“I hope you will approve of the choices,” he tries cautiously. Loki nods.

 

“They're lovely,” he says faintly. Then, after a beat. “What's the occasion?”

 

Thor opens his mouth wordlessly for a second, scrambling for a reply.

 

Things are always hard with Loki, but never this particular _flavour_ of hard. It's enough to make his head ache.

 

“No particular occasion, I suppose. It's, ah... well, a wardrobe. For every day.”

 

“I see,” Loki says, voice still tight and quiet. He is looking at some spot above Thor's shoulder; facing him as to not cause offence, but definitely not maintaining eye-contact. “Thank you.”

 

Thor decides to take his leave and let Loki browse his gifts alone and figure out for himself that truly it's just clothes; it does not appear there is much to be said. He gives Loki a brief smile and – acting on instinct, the action drilled into the basest muscle memory – reaches out to squeeze his shoulder in goodbye.

 

Immediately, he snatches his hand back, hissing in pain. His whole palm and fingers are a nasty shade of purple, smoking subtly. He looks back to Loki, surprised and (though perhaps unfairly) somewhat hurt, at least until he remembers the likely reasons Loki doesn't want to be touched.

 

Frostbite. Loki's normally cool skin has chilled down well below freezing point, becoming dangerous for any warm-skinned creature.

 

It's not exactly the first time that Thor was treated to this particular quirk of Jotun anatomy, but he certainly didn't expect it just now.

 

They stare at each other in silence, their eye contact broken only by Loki's gaze flitting from Thor's eyes to his injured hand.

 

“I did not mean to do that, I apologize, my lord,” Loki says eventually and his tone is... even. He says the words stiffly and rather quietly, but without wavering.

 

Thor shakes his hand a bit, checking the pain level. He will go to the healers but it's hardly anything he needs to concern himself with seriously.

 

“I startled you, the fault is mine,” he replies. “I shall leave you now. I hope you enjoy the new clothes.”

 

He pauses before closing the door behind himself, glimpsing Loki as he stands on the same spot, his arms wrapped about his midsection, a position that radiates vulnerability, and yet he is steady, his spine straight.

 

By the time Thor finishes the walk the healing chambers, a smile is playing on his lips.

 

The wound on his hand is a definitely a _good_ thing.

 

“There he is,” Thor whispers to himself fondly, looking at the coloured, blistering skin of his palm. He only covers his smile when a healer comes into the room and he barely pays any attention to the process of mending. Ideas and plans are already swirling in his mind.

 

 _His_ Loki will be found yet.

 

* * *

 

It's not over. It can't be.

 

Loki waits for hours, sitting rigidly on a chair, staring into the hearth that seems to be the centrepiece of the sitting room, even though it's currently unlit.

 

It's impossible that he could get away with _injuring_ the king.

 

And injuring him was not Loki's only transgression. In the aftermath of it, he merely issued a quick apology, one that did not include kneeling, begging, and several other distasteful actions that Loki's panicked mind readily supplies, tormenting him with the images.

 

He doesn't know what he was thinking. All he can remember is the sinking feeling of dread as more luxury was lavished upon him. Rooms, food, even gold (coming to an account in his name, apparently, as he has learned the day before) and after that, a whole wardrobe of beautiful clothes.

 

Something snapped in him as all the extravagant, vibrant pieces of clothing were stacked into place and the servants left, leaving an expectant looking Thor with him and suddenly, he was _angry_.

 

It is not an emotion he is familiar with, not anymore.

 

The king is playing with him.

 

He might as well say: _no, Loki, you shall not be my whore, I will merely pay you as one and wait for you to come to me once you finally realize you do not want my favour taken away_.

 

He wishes Thor was just honest with him. If this is the sort of entertainment the king requires before they even get to bed, he shudders to think what will await him once he gets there.

 

_Loki._

 

It occurs to him that he has taken to the name quickly and the idea startles him. Has he not just referred to himself as such in his own thoughts? Why should he accept a gift so grave (and it is a gift. He was not named before and he found he rather enjoyed the feeling, despite questioning the king's reasons.), so very important and then lose his composure when given mere objects?

 

 _Mere_ objects _? How quickly you have taken to your fortune. Haven't you begged for even a piece of old meat? Prostrated yourself for a shelter when a storm threatened to end your miserable life?_

 

He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the confusing thoughts, though he knows it never helps. He doesn't think he was always this... this trapped, a prisoner of his own racing, jumbling mind. The Giantess used to tell him that he was witty. He knew she meant it as an insult most of the time, but it made him laugh anyway.

 

Remembering those times, the times _before_ , makes him jump up and then wince as his muscles protest. He has been sitting without moving, wound up with tension for hours.

 

Yes. It's been _hours_ and nothing happened. He seizes the memory of the Giantess shaking her head in disapproval, her pale lips twitching with almost amusement and uses the image to guide him, to help him keep his mind clear. If he is to be punished, then he will be. He does not need to wait for it here in his pretty gilded prison.

 

The king has said Loki was free to stroll the garden. He would like to know whether Thor Odinson keeps his word. Swallowing thickly, he opens one of the wardrobes and chooses trousers and tunic at random. The materials are unknown to him and the colours still hold a lot of surprise, but he has managed the more simple clothing that was given to him when he was first brought here, and he can manage well enough now.

 

He almost loses his nerve when he lays a hand on the door handle.

 

“Go,” he whispers to himself. “You have already bemoaned more than one day as the worst of your sorry life. Can this day truly beat _those_?”

 

For some reason, it helps to speak it out loud. It's good to hear words spoken in his voice that are strong. That are brave.

 

He opens the door, taking a deep breath, and walks out.

 


	5. Thief

With all his duties for the day concluded, Thor sits on his balcony and watches the dusk fall, absent-mindedly stroking his now-healed palm. It is impossible to tell that mere hours ago it was badly frost-bitten and Thor finds himself almost regretting that he will bear no mark of Loki's apparent displeasure with him.

 

Everything he does, in every life that he lives, is influenced – if not outright determined – by his desire to be with Loki. He has long since stopped questioning why of all the people that are a constant in the never-ending circle that he spins in, only Loki is the one to truly capture all of his attention and fulfil all of his needs. Looking back at the couple of millennia that he's lived as his current self, the truth of it seems to shine even starker. He's been _impossible_. Half of Asgard fears him, along with a good portion of the realms. Not Helblindi though and Thor scowls into the night. He _should_ fear Thor. He is the one who has the ultimate reason to.

 

Even so, much as he loves Loki's companionship – their brotherhood, friendship, marriage even... there is a part of him that relishes the fight between them. He never wants things to be easy and that's a good thing, because they rarely are. But now, looking at the pristine skin of his palm, he wonders if maybe he should be more careful with his enjoyment of the violence between them. Certainly he can't reciprocate. Not this time.

 

He decides it's best to put it behind them. It was a small accident – when he was done feeling giddy about seeing Loki react to Thor's actions in his typical prickly manner, he put some thought about what Loki may have been thinking and decided that Sif was probably right – it was odd and a little too personal to be so involved in the things that Loki wears. He will let it all go and focus on actually getting to know each other.

 

It's bitter-sweet, every time. He knows Loki well and, unless they are brought up together, Loki is at a rather vast disadvantage. And yet he often comes out on top, surprising Thor anyway.

 

It's perhaps the reason why Thor never gets tired of him. Loki remains unpredictable. His mind is wired in a way that is so different from how Thor thinks that not even hundreds of thousands years of experience can help Thor understand him fully.

 

Loki is chaos personified, the most volatile individual born out of the most volatile realm. He is the one who ensures that Thor doesn't go mad with repetition.

 

He... tries not to ponder too closely the nature of his lives. Why him? Why does it keep happening? His second life, the first time he was reborn and started remembering, was strongly upsetting. He tried to talk to his mother about it and while she did help him, he couldn't shake the feeling that she did not fully believe him and that was hurtful. Since then, he has been managing mostly on his own, setting a couple of years in each life for some form of research. It hardly ever yields anything.

 

He is going to have to try harder now. Loki's late birth is very worrisome and Thor doesn't want to even imagine continuing the cycle without him. But it can wait a bit.

 

The next day he invites Loki to dine with him again, this time having a table set up in a smaller garden that is equipped with a lovely patio. Loki arrives in a timely manner a Thor stands up to greet him, trying not to gawk at him. He is dressed in the off-black leggings and a violet tunic with silver embroidery and the colour is very pleasant to look at when contrasted with his blue complexion; it is why Thor chose it, but it still makes his breath hitch when he finally sees it.

 

“My lord,” Loki bows briefly.

 

“Loki,” Thor smiles. It's an almost forgotten feeling, to be this genuinely pleased. “Please, sit.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

They are seated on the opposite sides and Thor picks up a serving spoon to pile various foods on their plates. Loki's gaze drops to where his fingers are wrapped around the handle.

 

“Is your hand all right, my lord? I am very sorry about...” Loki trails off and Thor shakes his head, smiling, as he finishes serving and raises his palm to show it to Loki.

 

“Perfectly fine.”

 

Loki continues to stare at him and Thor notices – perhaps far too slowly – the tight way he holds himself. Waiting. He picks up a fork and knife and digs into the food, hoping the mundane action will help set Loki at ease.

 

“It's truly fine, Loki. I am not angry.”

 

“And if you were?” Loki shoots back loudly and then reels backwards as though startled by his own sharp tone. Thor loses any appetite he may have had and slowly puts his cutlery down, watching as Loki curls in on himself, bowing his head low and pressing fingers to his lips.

 

“If I were angry with you?” Thor repeats, his voice coming out as a scratchy whisper. _I would not hurt you anyway._ That is what Loki probably wishes to hear, but Thor's memory is full of battles, skirmishes, punches thrown without warning... their history is violent.

 

But perhaps the solution is not to avoid it altogether, as he's thought before.

 

“Have you ever been in a fight? Do you know how to wield a weapon?” he asks.

 

Loki looks taken aback and takes a long moment to respond, all the while seeming like he is trying hard to uncoil himself.

 

“I know how to hunt,” he says finally.

 

The answer seems obvious when Thor hears it and he pushes further. “With a bow and arrow? Or a spear, perhaps?”

 

“A stick,” Loki says bluntly and Thor laughs, charmed by the slight narrowing of Loki's eyes that tells him he is being obtuse.

 

“Why don't we finish our meal,” Thor says, gesturing to the plates in front of them. “And you tell me all about your hunting experience. Tomorrow, we could go to the training grounds.”

 

Loki picks up a fork and brings a piece of meat to his mouth without even looking. “You want to teach me to fight?” The doubt is apparent in his voice. “What for?”

 

_My brother is always an excellent fighter._

 

_So that you could feel you can defend yourself against me. Against everyone._

 

_I want to see you sweaty and exerted._

 

_You need to build up muscle._

 

_So that I can take you with me when I go and tear Helblindi's guts from his belly._

 

All these answers float through Thor's mind and he cannot safely voice any of them.

 

“Perhaps you will enjoy it,” he says. “It's a good sport, good exercise. I would like to show you, if you agree.”

 

Surprisingly, there is no hesitation, just a delicate shrug of shoulder as Loki keeps eating. “Of course.”

 

Well then.

 

* * *

 

When the door of his rooms is safely shut behind him, Loki leans against it and lets his head fall backwards. So, tomorrow morning, shortly after dawn, the king will come and escort him to the training grounds to see Loki's 'technique' when he hunts. He was perplexed – but ultimately very interested – by Loki's descriptions of what he usually did to catch snow foxes and _skirja_.

 

It was bitter-sweet to dredge up those memories and he found he didn't quite _want_ to share them at first, but the king's interest seemed genuine and so Loki did. At one point he lost himself in telling a tale about how the Giantess sent him out to bring some meat, but the cold was unusual even for the land they lived in and there was no game to be found. Loki had eventually spied a camp of two giants passing by and waited for them to fall asleep before stealing their kill. The Giantess had been mightily impressed by what he brought and she never learned any better.

 

It was only half way through that it occurred to Loki that a king, _any_ king, might not be so impressed by a tale of thievery and he faltered before he saw the amused sparkle in Thor's eyes and decided to continue.

 

He wasn't scolded, but the king's eventual reaction – consisting mostly of praise and laughter – left him unsettled anyway.

 

Thor was beaming at him, looking happy beyond belief. His whole face – a face that Loki was growing to realize was handsome, but often darkened by his expression – looked centuries younger and the expression in his eyes was...

 

It was filled with emotion of a kind that Loki didn't know, but what he did know was that every time he caused a reaction of some degree of intensity, he ended up regretting it.

 

And then there was the king's desire to teach Loki how to fight. Loki decides to put off trying to figure out what it signifies, but one thing is for certain – the king wants his company. He means to continue meeting him.

 

The prospect of tomorrow looms scarily and Loki does his best to try and squash the tiny sliver of hope that is blooming in his chest. The fighting lessons are a big unknown. For all he knows, he will be walking into some kind of a trap. Maybe it _will_ be punishment for burning the king's hand, maybe all that awaits him is a proper thrashing. He knows nothing about the Aesir and their customs. Maybe the only way to strike someone is to challenge them.

 

But if it isn't... if what Thor said is true and he simply wants to see the moves that need has thought Loki and he wants to show him better, proper ones... if it is true, Loki will let that twinge of hope bloom.

 

After all, not a word was said about Loki leaving his rooms. He looks around, finally straightening up and walking slowly further inside, trailing his fingers absent-mindedly over the table and the rim of the golden pitcher filled with wine. If he wasn't feeling quite so drained and jittery from talking to Thor for long hours, he would want to go out again as the garden is quickly becoming his favourite place. It's so rich and beautiful, filled with colours and scents that he doesn't have names for.

 

But right now, he does crave the illusion of safety that his rooms offer and he stays in, pouring himself a goblet of wine – his hands shake as he does it, filled with guilt at the indulgence – and walking out to the balcony.

 

The sweetness of the wine takes away the edge of his thoughts and he is able to focus only on the view, mapping the bright chaos of the endless city with his eyes.

 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will know.

 


	6. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, it's been a while, I'm sorry. Enjoy anyway?

_A year later_

 

 

Loki adjusts his grip on the staff, panting. Waves of heat are coming over his skin; he's been among the Aesir for long enough to know that if he were like them, he would be sweating profusely right now.

 

He dares not stop though, or let the temperature break his concentration.

 

His feet carry him almost without his knowledge as he carefully steps to the side, keeping pace with his opponent as to not let him get an opening in Loki's side.

 

The attack, when it comes, startles him briefly, but doesn't catch him completely unaware. He jumps out of the way and forces himself to thrust the staff in front of himself, parrying a possible blow. Then, almost reflexively he swings it, loosening the grip of his left hand on the shaft and rotating his right wrist in daring manner. But it pays off; he hits his mark.

 

The king – _Thor_ – flashes him a quick grin as he wipes blood off his brow. Loki swallows down the onslaught of instinctive fear and returns the nod, bobbing his head in a respectful manner.

 

The Aesir have many rules for sparring and other formal types of fighting. Loki knows them all now.

 

With their exercise finished, Loki comes to join Thor at the barrel filled with water where the king is currently splashing his face clean. Loki dips his fingers in the cool liquid before it gets tinged with blood from the cut he dealt Thor and sprays it on his own face, though he doesn't really need to.

 

“That was very well done.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

They both step back to watch another duel take place and Thor reaches for his discarded tunic, slipping it over his head. The light, sand coloured material sticks to his damp skin immediately and Loki forces his eyes back towards the ring and the two sparring warriors. No matter what he does, he is still unnerved by the sheer physically of the king. The months spent by his side – and the lack of any harm inflicted upon him – have done little to rid him of the awareness of the strength contained in that body.

 

Dropping his head slightly, Loki considers himself. He is changed to an extent he never would have thought possible. When he was living with the Giantess, he was agile and used to hours, if not days of activity, but sustenance was lacking. Then, in what both he and Thor now simply refer to as his 'captivity,' he grew even thinner and definitely weaker.

 

After months of living in the palace at the heart of Asgard, eating several rich meals every day and exercising under Thor's watchful eye, he sometimes has trouble recognizing his own body. The muscles that he already knew he could possess from long trips tracking game and from menial work are back, but thicker and stronger, fed by the richness of meat and milk, which there never seems to be a lack of on Asgard. But meat isn't all that he eats – no, these days, it's perfectly normal for him to eat several platefuls of sweets made of chocolate or honey and this habit has put even a thin layer of fat under his skin.

 

One day, some months ago, after Loki has polished such a plate in front of Thor, having grown relaxed enough in those daily meetings, Thor commented on it – on the almost-softness that found its way to some of Loki's angles. He remembers the panic he felt back then, certain that finally he has grown into a shape that is pleasing enough to the king and he would be on his back underneath this strange, scary man in no time.

 

Nowadays, he no longer fears that; at least not when he is in control of his thoughts and his mind is clear, which thankfully is more often than not.

 

But that doesn't mean he is perfectly at ease in this new life that he finds himself living.

 

Firstly, he has no name for it. Nothing certain to call himself except for 'Loki,' the name that now sits comfortably in his thoughts. He is a... companion of sorts, he supposes. He sees the king every day – joining him regularly during meals and on the sparring ground, and, less regularly, in the evenings with a cup of wine and even on trips out of the city.

 

He does offer his company, but very little beyond that – that he can see, anyway. On the contrary, it is Thor that seems to be exerting himself to Loki's benefit, whether it be tutelage with all range of weapons or telling him long histories of all the realms.

 

“I have called for a meeting with the council that might stretch long into the afternoon, but I would like you to join me in the evening anyway,” Thor says as the duel they've been watching comes to an end and Loki nods.

 

“Of course. I will wait for your summons.”

 

That makes Thor chuckle, which doesn't surprise Loki at all. He seems to have a similar reaction every time Loki speaks to him very formally. Of course he knows that it means Thor wants him to be more casual, but he cannot help the jittery feeling of panic that tells him that the lower and quieter he acts, the safer is. Besides, they are out in public and while there aren't many people present, he knows that a king is always watched.

 

Loki rolls his shoulders, feeling the strain of the exercise. It is _hot_.

 

“But,” he murmurs, annoyed, watching his toes, “if you keep me waiting, I cannot promise what mood you will find me in.”

 

Before he can even begin to regret his bad-natured exclamation, Thor's booming laugh fills the courtyard. He clasps Loki on the shoulder and then, still smiling, gives an exaggerated bow of his head.

 

“I shall keep that in mind. The council will face my wrath if they keep me from your company.”

 

* * *

 

Refreshed and his clothing changed, Thor heads for the council meeting. He has long since made the decision not to share this kind of matter with Loki, but a lot is depending on what will be decided today. Thor has a plan in mind and is determined to set yet another stone into its foundations. It was misleading to tell Loki he would cut it short if it stretched too far into the evening – he actually has no intention of dispersing the gathering until he gets what he wants, even if it should take all night.

 

With a patience of a man that has led more lives than any one rightly should, Thor has been planning Jotunheim's demise.

 

The choices he has made and the actions he will carry through as a result are cold and calculated; they possess a simple, singular goal – bringing the Jotnar royalty, aristocracy and army to utter humiliation and ruin (and in many cases, when that is completed, to death as well) at the least possible expense of Asgardian lives and resources.

 

And he knows how to achieve this.

 

It was hard at first, after he made the decision to take the slower, more certain route. Day after day he was faced with the consequences of what Helblindi and his croons had done to Loki. The flinching, the mistrust, the cautious silence and the way Loki threaded so carefully around him... The desire to simply throw himself headlong into war was strong, but he resisted, a whisper at the back of his mind reminding him of the suspicious circumstances of Loki's late birth.

 

Wars were dangerous; rushed, fury-fuelled wars even more so. What if this life was the last one Thor would live with Loki? He couldn't risk ruining it.

 

At the council chamber, he takes a seat at the head of the long table and gestures for everyone to sit down. He lets his eyes sweep over their faces, gauging the mood the in the room, then takes a breath.

 

“Let us begin with the Alfheim weapon trade.”

 


	7. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *buzz lightyear image* Panic attacks. Panic attacks everywhere.
> 
> I'm glad I was able to keep my word and the new chapter is here soon! Hope you guys enjoy... phew, it's hard work juggling the characterizations there. Let me know what you think?

When Thor sends for him, it really is rather late.

 

Loki yawns, getting up from his book and opens the door when it rattles with three quick knocks and he shares his customary greeting with Kárr, one of the guards who are frequently stationed in this part of the palace and as such are often the bearers of messages between Thor and Loki.

 

He heads out straight away, wincing when he starts ascending the staircase. He didn't realize just how tiring the earlier exercise was and now his muscles are stiff from the way he's been sitting curled up for hours, reading and waiting.

 

He expects Thor to be tired as well, not so much from the time spent on the training grounds, but rather from the council meeting.

 

“Loki!” Thor welcomes him with a bright smile instead, face clear. “Come.”

 

They sit on the balcony and Loki lets his lungs fill with the heavy, warm air. It is dark already and the, by now very familiar, view of the city is subdued, the golds turned into heavy copper, shivering with the lights of fires and lanterns.

 

And stars. The stunning, colourful spin of Asgardian stars.

 

Thor brings goblets and a pitcher; nothing is out of the ordinary, except for the gleam in Thor's eyes and the heaviness in Loki's limbs.

 

“Mm,” Loki hums in surprise when they toast to each other and he takes a sip. The wine is not what they typically drink – it's light and dances on Loki's tongue. He looks up.

 

“Are we celebrating?”

 

“I suppose we are,” Thor shrugs, looking almost... shy.

 

“So the council meeting went well, I take it?” Loki asks, sipping more of the wine. The taste is lovely, but it is the coolness of it that calls to him the most.

 

“Yes, it did,” Thor nods in apparent satisfaction. “There were some disagreements, of course, as you can probably tell from how long they've kept me from you, but I have secured my goal.”

 

Loki drops his gaze. The king is always so at ease saying these things and every time, without a doubt, a nagging question pops into Loki's head: _why_.

 

Desperate to act as though it doesn't unnerve him, Loki focuses on the safer part of the conversation.

 

“And what was your goal?” he asks with a polite interest, gulping down more of the special wine.

 

“I proposed we order larger quantities of weapons and other fare from Alfheim,” Thor replies, waving his hand dismissively. “But I need not bore you with the details. Did-”

 

“I don't mind hearing it,” Loki hears himself interrupting sharply. “I didn't think the Ljosalfar were skilled in weapon-making.”

 

Thor pauses and Loki is only able to weather his stare for a moment before he looks away. He concentrates on keeping his breathing in check. What _is_ it with him today?

 

“They... make weapons infused with seidr,” Thor says eventually, his tone even. “They are much different from what Asgardian warriors know, but incredibly useful. I would like to stock up and have the soldiers broaden their skills.”

 

Loki deflates, sighing. “I'm sorry, I...”

 

“It's all right. You can always speak your mind, you know that.”

 

_Do I?_

 

“I simply don't understand why you want my company.” The doubt of all those months comes rushing out, the words tumbling between Loki's lips – he is almost surprised that Thor can understand him at all.

 

“Do you not think your company is pleasant?” Thor asks, a corner of his mouth lifting.

 

“I think you have a realm full of people whose company can be pleasant,” Loki shoots back, both annoyed by Thor's apparent attempt to make this into a joke and fortified by his lack of anger.

 

“Oh really? I shall take you to a council meeting some time. Or to meet the fellers up in the mountains, those men are _exceedingly_ grumpy,” Thor laughs, hand curling around the pitcher to pour them both more wine. Loki shoots up from his chair with force and it topples behind him.

 

“Stop making fun of me!” he hisses and Thor's laughter dies down. But Loki is not deterred.

 

There is heat swelling in his chest, like the surface of boiling liquid.

 

“ _You can speak your mind, Loki, you need not be afraid of me, Loki,_ ” he mocks, imitating Thor's words and tone. He can see the edges of his vision blurring, but he doesn't know why it's happening. “Well, fine!”

 

And with that, he chucks his full goblet in Thor's general direction, his hand moving almost without his permission as the need to _disrespect_ , to scream _freely_ overcomes him. The wine splashes Thor as the goblet hits the ground with a loud clunk.

 

“And now what?” he yells, staring at Thor who is still sitting, expression blank. Loki aches to break that façade and finally get to what he knows is truly brewing underneath. “Now will you-”

 

The heat coming from his chest has reached his throat and he chokes for breath, vision swimming. Next, crushing pain explodes in his shoulder and temple and he blinks, realizing he is on the ground. The last thing he sees before the darkness fills his head are Thor's boots rushing towards him and, against all odds, he hopes he won't die.

 

* * *

 

Thor was in an excellent mood after the council meeting. He has gotten what he wanted, eventually overriding all doubts and dissent. The sight of Loki pleased him as usual and the simple joy of spending a quiet evening with him, combined with the knowledge that he was another step closer to bringing ruin to those who hurt him only added to that.

 

And as such, he didn't realize the weight behind Loki's words, how hard it must have been to speak them in the first place only to have them made fun of...

 

And then, when Loki exploded in rage, Thor was stunned by an onslaught of his own memories, suddenly shivering as he remembered all those times when they fought with only crumbs – if that – of affection between them. Needless to say, he was not laughing anymore.

 

And then even all that was erased as he watched Loki collapse.

 

Now he watches Loki's form lying prone on the examination table, tall and lean, but still appearing somewhat vulnerable and small, his blue skin playing in purple hues as the Soul Forge that hovers above him shimmers in red and yellow light.

 

“What is it?” he asks Eir when he can no longer hold his tongue. “What happened to him?”

 

She is quiet for a while, adjusting the Forge before waving it away and pressing her palm to Loki's forehead, greenish blue light flashing from the point of contact.

 

“He is overheated and went through a phase of severe agitation.”

 

Maybe it's the diagnosis, maybe it's the flat tone she takes with him, but Thor's cheeks colour. “We didn't...”

 

“I didn't think you did,” Eir says drily. “But that doesn't change the fact that he is a Jotun running around Asgard in the middle of summer, unprotected, and in a very fragile emotional state.”

 

Thor swallows down ten unsuitable replies before he finally convinces himself to speak, staring at Loki's slack face.

 

“Is he not able to protect himself with seidr?”

 

“Is he _trained_ in seidr?” Eir counters and Thor feels increasingly like he's being scolded. And deservedly so, too. “Any natural defences he might have were shut down by his distress.”

 

They are quiet for a while and Eir moves around the room, gathering vials.

 

“Were you there? When they brought him?” Thor asks in an almost whisper. Eir pauses and it takes a while before she turns and responds.

 

“I was not, but Jóra told me all about it. I am rather surprised he didn't turn up here sooner.”

 

Thor watches her work, filled with guilt. How selfish and careless he had been. He focused on taking revenge for what was done to Loki instead of trying to help him heal from it. He has completely neglected his basic needs, so used to him being usually able to take care of them himself.

 

_Seidr_.

 

How did this not occur to him? He took Loki to the training grounds, unsettled by the idea of him being unskilled in that field. He also believed that exercise would give him the opportunity to set his mind free, and perhaps he even succeeded in that, but at what cost? Him collapsing from all the strain?

 

Nothing is like it was in his previous lives. _Nothing_. He can't take anything for granted lest he hurts Loki further.

 

His tongue is dry, but he makes himself speak to Eir again. “Does he have... old injuries? Anything that could pain him or endanger him?”

 

“I will examine him more closely after he has rested and is awake.”

 

He can hear that he is being dismissed and for a second he considers accepting it, until he remembers Loki's outburst that led them here. No. When he wakes, Thor will be there to soothe him and reassure him.

 

“He will rest in my chambers.”

 

* * *

 

Eir protested, of course she did, but in the end, no one in Asgard can overrule the king's wishes. Thor sits at the edge of his own bed, watching Loki's still form stretched atop of the covers; in the dark, he almost looks like a shadow. The windows are open wide and cool, damp air is wafting in. Thor has summoned thick clouds over the city and let them rain without even a whisper of thunder accompanying the gentle, but steady downpour. Loki was given potions and Eir cast her seidr on him to lower his temperature, but Thor hopes he would appreciate the coolness and the rain nevertheless.

 

Oddly, Thor is thinking about his parents as he reaches out to take Loki's hand, limp and dry in his grasp, and strokes the back of it with the pad of his thumb. Odin died centuries ago, Frigga not long after. Odin had been so pleased with Thor, the way he took to kingship, the ruthlessness that only grew within him as he remained alone. Frigga saw something else and there were shadows in her eyes as she watched her son – her only son – succumb to dark moods.

 

How he wishes she was here now, so that he could perhaps explain, or better yet, apologize. And how he wishes she was here _for Loki_ , introducing him to the wonders of magic the way she so often did.

 

He didn't mean to fall asleep – he had everything intention of sitting vigil over Loki, to be right there when he awoke, but the soft sounds of the rain and the undeniable comfort he felt from simply sharing space with his brother must have made him drowsy. But as he blinks into the darkness, he realizes that he is lying on his side, pillow crookedly underneath his head and there is a rasp of breathing right in front of his face.

 

It only takes Thor several seconds to get his bearing and awaken fully, but already it feels like he has made a mistake.

 

“Thor?”

 

His eyes finally adjust and he sees Loki's face across the pillow, twisted in worry.

 

“How are you feeling?” Thor whispers back.

 

He can hear Loki's breathing quickening and quickening until- “You will finally do it now, won't you? You will do it.”

 

The words are almost unintelligible, squeezed out between panicked gasps of breath. Thor's head spins as he tries to grasp the meaning and when the realization lands, it hits him hard.

 

It can only be one thing, the thing he has ignored for months now – just as everything else about Loki he should have been noticing.

 

It's not as though he doesn't _know_. He knows what Helblindi's croonies have done to Loki. And the words 'pleasure slave' have come out of Helblindi's twisted, smug mouth when the both of them were present.

 

“I will not,” Thor breathes. “Norns, Loki, I will _not_.”

 

Loki's hand comes to rest on Thor's forearm and he squeezes it with surprising strength. “Swear to me. Swear to me you will never.”

 

“I swear.” The words slide past Thor's lips easily. “I swear I will not hurt you and I will not force you.”

 

“No,” Loki shakes his head and tugs at Thor's arm. “Do not just swear that you will not _force_ me, swear that you will not expect it and want- by Ymir, I'm- I cannot-”

 

The grip on Thor's arms lessens as Loki begins to shake and Thor manages to say: “Shh, it's all right-”

 

Then, oddly, Loki is shuffling forward, his sharp knees digging into Thor's thighs and just like that, he is in Thor's arms.

 

Willingly, with confused need wrecking his body, in Thor's arms.

 

After _millennia_.

 

Thor presses him closer, brushes his lips across the dark strands of Loki's hair and lets the tears silently fall.


	8. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting, you guys always make my day and inspire me to continue. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Check out [this flawless art](http://angeline-farewell.tumblr.com/post/133541990408/the-grip-on-thors-arms-lessens-as-loki-begins-to) that Angeline made for the previous chapter.

Thor sits on his bed, leaning against the headboard and watching Loki as he nervously toys with the edge of a blanket. For his part, Loki sits cross-legged, still on the bed but some distance from Thor now. His head is turned towards the windows and he seems to be watching the rain. Bright, greyish light is coming into the room because even though the night is over, Thor hasn't dispelled the clouds.

 

“I owe you an apology,” Thor says and Loki jerks at the sound of his voice. “Several, probably. I did not realize how uncomfortable you were in my company.”

 

Loki turns to face him after that and he opens his mouth. Thor stops him gently by raising his palm. “No, please. That's all right. You have been through so much and you had no reason to trust me. And I was mistaken in thinking that simply by my... doing nothing, your worries would disappear.”

 

“That's not entirely unfounded,” Loki says quietly. “I was uncertain, yes, but... I was not afraid for most of the time, it was rather... there were these spells of worry overcoming me. And sometimes, they would grow into anger. I am sorry for that.”

 

“It's not your fault,” Thor stresses, wishing to lean forward and tug Loki to himself again, but he knows that now, in the light of the day, it would not be welcome. He will cherish the memories of the half night they spent in an embrace, but he cannot push for more.

 

“But I still...” Loki speaks again, briefly glancing away and apparently steeling himself. “I still do not understand why you insist on having my company.”

 

Thor feels a small tug of yearning to simply tell the truth, but it is easily squashed. “Would you believe if I told you it was a simple folly? Something that I do not fully understand myself? I dedicated my life to the realm. There are people I trust and that I share mutual care with, but... My life has been empty of true companionship. I was... upset and strongly disgruntled by the way the king of Jotunheim gave you to me.”

 

Loki nods and Thor goes on. “It was an insult, meant to hurt me. And you were but a pawn in that scheme... But you are not just that, are you?”

 

“I do not know what I am. I know nothing about myself except for what others made me.”

 

* * *

 

Loki says it without considering his words too deeply. There is so much rattling about in his head, too many confusing thoughts coming together.

 

Waking up last night and discovering that he was in the king's bed, next to sleeping Thor, was a shock, to put it very mildly. In his feverish confusion he had been so certain that things have come to what seemed to be the only possible outcome. Of course Thor wanted him _that_ way. His long game of messing with Loki's head was over.

 

And so Loki shook and begged, overcome with the long buried memories of pain and humiliation. And yet again, Thor insisted that no, that was _not_ what he wanted. Loki hardly knows how he ended up in Thor embrace, but what he _does_ know is even more confusing.

 

He knows that the king cried.

 

And he knows that it felt incredibly, achingly good to be held like that.

 

And even now, in the light of the morning, they are as they are, sitting on the bed together, not touching, simply talking. Loki is being neither punished for his outburst, nor made to do anything he doesn't want to do.

 

He breathes in the fresh, damp air.

 

He finally _believes_. Some part of him that has long since given up on hope is stirring and coming back. The tortures of years past feel removed from him in a way that not even the most vigorous exercise and the deep sleep that mercifully came after could. Oh, it's not gone. Far from it. But for the first time, he sees it as a thing of past, not an inevitable result of his present. Not a thing of future and not a thing that will be bestowed upon him by the king's hand.

 

He allows himself to look at Thor now, the way he sits, dressed in plain trousers and lose tunic, hair messy and undone from sleep. His forearms are resting on his knees and he regards Loki calmly. He, too, is almost new to Loki this morning.

 

He is handsome and steadfast and he wants Loki's company and for the first time, Loki sees that as an opportunity rather than a trap.

 

He clings to this idea and finds he needs to reassure himself, still. Tucking his feet underneath himself, he rises on his knees and shuffles to where Thor is sitting. With one hand, Loki braces himself on Thor's forearm, and with the other he reaches out to touch the king's cheek. Thor is perfectly still, watching him. His eyes are just a little hooded and warmth shines from the blue in them.

 

And of course, nothing happens. Thor simply lets him do what he will. He does not push him away – even if his actions could be considered impudent – and he does not bring him closer – even if the touch could be considered an invitation.

 

“You can be your own,” Thor says and Loki feels the skin underneath his fingers shift slightly as Thor moves his lips with the words that they form. He is almost startled and it takes a moment to realize what it is that he's said, focused as he is on this novel feeling of lack of fear.

 

“How?”

 

“There are many ways. You simply try. Eir, the head healer, mentioned that if you were trained in seidr, you would be much better equipped for the temperatures of Asgard. So, learning seidr is just one of hundreds opportunities open to you.”

 

Loki withdraws his hand and sits back, though he doesn't move away very far. He frowns, considering it.

 

“So you will simply... let me do what I want? How will I learn seidr?”

 

Thor nods. “There are many who can teach you. And there are books.”

 

“They will not teach me out of the goodness of their heart, though, will they? Will you pay them? Order them? Why would you do that?” Loki challenges. He wants to know the king's reasoning. Thor smiles crookedly and shrugs.

 

“You can pay them yourself. You have gold, remember? For your service to the crown.”

 

Ah. No, Loki has quite forgotten about that and he laughs quietly. Thor's smile grows even wider and Loki tentatively appreciates the apparent fondness behind it.

 

“Well, perhaps I shall give the gold to some old _kona_ and have her teach me weaving,” Loki jokes but startles when Thor's face falls. Then Thor looks down and Loki notices him balling his hands into fists.

 

He makes himself stay still. “That was a jest.”

 

“I know, I am sorry,” Thor says, looking up again with a sad smile on his lips. “I simply... my mother, queen Frigga, was excellent in weaving. Last night I was thinking what a shame it is that you never got to know her.”

 

Loki is relieved that he hasn't angered Thor, but he is still confused. Surely a queen would not care for...?

 

“Come,” Thor says, a hint of excitement that wipes away his apparent sadness in his voice, and gets up. “Let me show you something.”

 

Loki scrambles out of bed, suddenly realizing that he is only wearing a short pair of breaches. He does not feel particularly inclined to simply walk out like that, as he has become accustomed to Asgardian customs in this manner. Thor stays as he is, covered but completely casual, but he glances at Loki as he crosses his arms across his chest.

 

“Here,” Thor says and walks into his dressing room, handing Loki a soft red tunic. Loki tugs it on, relieved and uncaring that it hangs on his frame. Even though he has just seen Thor take it from the closet, clearly laundered and folded, it seems to him it carries a faint – and not unpleasant – scent of Thor's skin.

 

Thor's disregard for their state of clothing makes much more sense when instead of the customary left, they turn right after exiting the king's chambers and Loki realizes he has never been on this side of the long hall. They walk the length of it and then ascend two flights of stairs before coming onto a smaller corridor. There are open windows at both ends of it and the breeze flows harshly between them. It occurs to Loki how _high_ they must be – it is almost a tower. There is only one door and despite the fact that they are essentially indoors, plants grow on both sides, climbing up the walls and fanning across the entrance. 

 

Loki mutely follows as Thor opens the door and walks in.

 

The importance of the room dawns on Loki immediately. It has the same richness as all the other rooms he has seen in Asgard, but there is a different touch in the surroundings – softer, warmer. There are low, plush chairs covered in deep blue fabrics, small tables full of potted flowers that appear to thrive even though Loki can tell immediately this room is unused and unoccupied.

 

But, more importantly, there are embroidery hoops, piles of fabric of all colours and several weaving looms.

 

The queens chambers. Loki breathes out, suddenly overwhelmed for reasons he doesn't quite understand.

 

It's probably the intimacy of the room and Thor's quiet grief which becomes apparent as soon as Loki turns to him. He looks around the room with such an aura of sadness that Loki immediately reaches out and circles his fingers around Thor's wrist. Thor looks at him with a small smile.

 

“There is more. I want you to see the beauty she created.”

 

They walk into another room then and Loki's breath stops in his lungs. There are no windows on the walls in that one, but merely on the ceiling. It reminds Loki of the cave he and the Giantess lived in, but only in the crudest sense of course. There, too, the light, if there was any, fell from the holes above their heads.

 

The walls are completely covered in tapestries of extravagant designs. There seems to be a clear favour for colours in the shade of red and green, blue and silver, and azure and gold.

 

“Oh,” is all Loki can manage to say, his eyes following the seemingly endless patterns.

 

They feel like stories, like long histories weaved into cloth. When he came to Asgard, he had some troubles with the script of Asgardian books, having only learned to recognize runes drawn in the snow or carved into ice. He learned quickly, but it took some effort. This however... it flows in front of his eyes almost like a song.

 

“You can come here whenever you want,” Thor's voice comes as though from distance and Loki shakes himself, drawing his attention back to present.

 

“But... this is your mother's. The queen's. Is it not private?”

 

“It is, but...” Thor nods. For the first time since they met, Loki sees him as someone aged. As someone who has lived much longer than Loki has. “You have my permission and more importantly... I know you would have had her blessing, Loki.”

 

There is such gravity in Thor's voice that Loki doesn't dare question it – and he doesn't want to. 

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

 

Then he watches as Thor looks around the room, looking over the tapestries, reading them as well. Loki already knows he will come here alone and lose himself in them, but for now, it is fascinating to watch Thor do the same.

 

When Thor is finished, he slides the same, heavy gaze onto Loki.

 

“There is something I would have you know. And it concerns Jotunheim.”

 


	9. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! I was busy before the holidays and then I had lot of inspiration for various one-shots, so I've been neglecting this, sorry.. but update is here now! Thank you everyone who is following this story :)

“You shouldn't do this,” Loki tells him faintly as they stand and observe drills being performed by several hundreds of soldiers at one of the larger Asgardian squares.

 

“There is very little that could be done now to stop this war. Jotunheim has been sending raids to Alfheim. They are our allies and we owe them protection.”

 

“The Jotnar are only attacking Alfheim because you bought out all the weapons that the elves have promised them,” Loki continues in the same defeated tone of voice.

 

“Indeed. Which is why I will not attempt to do the 'little' that could be done to prevent the upcoming battles,” Thor says lightly.

 

“Don't jest, my lord, please. Not about this,” Loki sighs and Thor pulls his eyes away from the drills and turns to Loki, putting his hand on his shoulder.

 

“You are right, it is no laughing matter.”

 

Thor's plans have finally fallen into place. Months ago, seidr infused weapons began to flow into Asgard and the elven vendors – along with the crown of course – found their pockets stuffed with gold. The prices Thor offered were so generous that they barely spared a thought for the Jotnar, notoriously difficult to deal with, being delighted at having such an easy and prestigious customer.

 

This, as expected, did not sit well with Jotunheim, especially since it was no secret where the trade ways were turned to and while probably not even Helblindi was reckless enough to attack Asgard outright, he had no such qualms about sending raiding parties to Alfheim.

 

As the wheels of the plan turned, Thor and Loki remained together, spending time as they had before, but some things were definitely changed. Loki was more at ease, more willing to speak his mind and Thor, in turn, grew more honest.

 

He told Loki of his plans and what he has done to achieve his goals.

 

The irony of the situation didn't escape him as Loki looked at him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide in horror at the thought of Thor doing something so cunning and, frankly, dishonest.

 

 _I learned all of this from you,_ Thor longed to tell him. _This is not me, not really. This is not how I was born, it's what you have shown me. And if you are not here to do the schemes for me, to guide me as your weapon, then I have to do it myself._

 

“These men might die,” Loki says after a while.

 

“Aye, they might. But they are soldiers, Aesir soldiers. To die in battle is an honourable thing and such death will lead them to Valhalla,” Thor tells him patiently, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“And what about those they leave behind?” Loki challenges him, gaze trained on the square beneath them. “Wives, children.”

 

“They will surely mourn, but will have to contend themselves with the knowledge that the Valkyries choose who they will.”

 

He feels Loki's shoulders slump beneath his hand; he's giving up yet another of his attempts to stop Thor.

 

“Can we please go now?” Loki murmurs to him and Thor nods, trying to catch Loki's eye and smile at him reassuringly. “And can we go... outside somewhere?”

 

Thor reads the veiled request for what it is. Loki wants to get out of the city. He has grown fascinated with the forests and mountains that enclose it, but he would not venture alone. He has gotten better at asking Thor to take him and Thor always does so with pleasure.

 

“Yes. Hold on.”

 

He wraps an arm around Loki's waist, enjoying the contact so much he almost manages to bury the lingering feeling of guilt for doing so. In turn, Loki puts both of his arms around Thor's neck, hugging himself to Thor securely. Mjolnir vibrates in Thor's palm and then they are off, flying high above the city and curving towards the mountains.

 

This. This is Thor's Valhalla. None of his many deaths have ever lead him to the hall, but he has been granted pleasures tenfold that – Loki, in his arms, the uru hammer singing in his hand, flying above the Golden Realm.

 

They land on a mountain peak that has a smattering of snow blown on top of it and Loki sits down as soon as Thor lets him go – it is always a challenge for him not to keep holding on, not to burrow his face in Loki's neck and breathe in the scent of his hair – planting his behind straight into the snow and reaching out to draw shapes in it with his finger.

 

Thor, sensing he needs to give Loki some space, meanwhile finds an acceptable rock and perches on top, waiting.

 

“I was in the queen's rooms yesterday,” Loki says after long minutes pass. “Looking at the tapestries again.”

 

Thor simply hums his approval, waiting for Loki to continue. Loki has been going there quite a lot, which quietly pleased Thor.

 

“They felt sad to me for some reason, more than ever before. Sometimes there is joy and playfulness in them, but not yesterday. Yesterday there was grief and... disappointment, I think.”

 

As Loki spoke, he was still drawing in the snow but now he lifts up his head, looking at Thor with an almost startled expression. “Not because of the war. I didn't mean to...”

 

“That's all right. Go on.”

 

“Then I had a dream. It was unlike any dream I've had before. I usually...” Loki trails off. “Either they are horrible and- they're hardly a mystery. But this one was different. I was in a place I didn't know. It looked like nothing I've ever seen. It was noisy and smelled badly, like metal and... something bitter. And there was glass everywhere and walls of metal, too. And you were there.”

 

Thor sits up straighter, confused and intrigued. Loki is once again speaking towards the ground, not looking at Thor, but it seems that once he's started talking, he doesn't want to – or perhaps can't – stop.

 

“But you looked different. Your hair was different and I think... pardon me... I think you were younger.”

 

Thor can't help a huff of laughter. “Indeed I was the stuff of dreams when I was younger. Continue, please.”

 

Loki's mouth opens and closes several times and he frowns at Thor. Is he _blushing_? Then he shakes his head.

 

“It was a sad dream. I felt horrible. And I think... I think I was hurting you. I think I did something. And the odd thing is that I saw my hand, I felt myself press on something, but my hand was pale, like yours.”

 

Loki makes a tiny, firm ball of snow, rolling it between his palms and then chucks it over the edge. “I knew I hurt you then, by whatever I did, and then so much of disappointment flooded over me.”

 

Silence falls over the mountain peak then. Thor thinks hard, intrigued and a little excited. Loki is right – it does not sound like a normal dream. A vision from a previous life? But Loki never had dreams like that, Thor was the only one who could remember... unless of course Loki kept such dreams to himself and this is the first time – first life – where he feels free to share something so peculiar with Thor. That thought stings, but sadly also rings true.

 

“My mother had many skills, she saw things, she knew things... and you yourself of course already know that the tapestries are extraordinary. It could be a memory, or a vision of future,” he says carefully to Loki eventually. Loki's head whips up.

 

“I don't want to hurt you,” he protests. “I don't want that to be the future – it was appalling.”

 

Thor looks at him – what a sight he makes, sitting in the snow like a child, blue-purple lips curled in indignation. It's too much all of a sudden and Thor gets up, turning his back to Loki, looking unseeingly at the forests around them, trying to control his breathing. The love he feels – the love that is always there, in one way or the other – cuts him deep now. Suddenly it feels like no mystery at all that the spins and twists of his lives always turn him to where he is – with Loki, _all about_ him, _always_. This Loki, so horrified at the thought of hurting Thor. The spitting mad Loki that drives the blade deep as he bares his bloodied teeth at Thor before Thor manages to yank him closer and crush their lips together. So, so many- and he loves it all.

 

“Thor?”

 

It's barely a peep – despite the trust between them now, Loki does not deal well with signs of Thor's temper. But Thor is not angry and he turns around.

 

“What did I say?” Loki asks, half petulant and half scared and Thor laughs, voice all croaky with the tears he is trying to swallow.

 

“Nothing. Come here, please... I- I know you don't like it, but-”

 

And Loki does, he steps closer and lets Thor hug him, though a small surprised “oomph” escapes him and Thor reminds himself to keep his grip loose.

 

In fact – Thor goes down to his knees and maintains the hug, ending up with his arms around Loki's waist and his face pressed low on Loki's chest. Loki laughs, startled, and Thor feels his hands hovering for a moment before he places them on Thor's shoulders and begins playing with his hair.

 

“What are you doing? What did I say?” Loki repeats, but this time he sounds merely amused and Thor just shakes his head. Loki squirms as Thor's nose apparently tickles him, digging into his ribs and he tugs on a strand of Thor's hair in warning.

 

Thor lets him go sooner than he'd like, but he doesn't want to push his luck and besides, they still need to fly off the mountain together and he doesn't want to upset Loki and make the flight – and the close bodily contact that comes with it – unpleasant for him.

 

But he can't resist briefly cupping Loki's cheek. “Thank you.”

 

“For what? Not liking a dream in which I hurt you? Why should I enjoy it? You've never wronged me.”

 

Some of Thor's good humour simmers out with that. “You are kind, but I don't think that's true.”

 

Loki crosses his arms. “I'll let you know if you do.”

 

Thor laughs – the opposite is hard to imagine, even as they stand now.

 

“You better promise me that, Loki.” The realm spans before them, calm for now, even though it's about to be thrown into war. “You better promise.”

 


	10. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... honestly have no excuse whatsoever. But if anyone still remembers this lil weird fic, have an update!
> 
> And a continuation/conclusion hopefully soon.

Helblindi folds almost in half, dropping to his knees as Mjolnir hits him in the gut with all of Thor’s might behind it.

 

It likely smashed his insides beyond repair. Thor approaches as Helblindi tries - and fails - to get back up. He’s cautious, but not overly worried, confident in the amount of damage he has done.

 

He digs his fingers into the skin at the back of Helblindi's neck and forces his head back. On his knees, the giant is barely shorter than Thor, but the difference is there and Thor sneers at him. They are here, King to King after a brief but bloody war. So brief and so bloody that it might be better to call it simply a battle - one long, drawn out battle that Thor is about to end right here and now.

 

But first he needs to know.

 

“Why him?”

 

No reply is forthcoming and Thor thrusts the head of Mjolnir underneath Helblindi's chin.

 

“The slave. Why him?” Thor repeats. “Tell me and I might spare your people.”

 

Of course, he doesn't say he will spare  _ him _ . They are well beyond that and they both know it.

 

Helblindi stares at him, breath rasping, and he is silent. Thor feels the onslaught of rage coming, already stirred by the battle that lies behind him, the bloodshed, the resistance.

 

When Helblindi finally speaks, it is with a sneer slowly twisting his face, something akin to madness flashing in his eyes: “Was he a good slut to you? I didn't try him myself, but I watched. Looked so small on a true giant's cock, my mother's little bastard runt-”

 

Thor doesn’t give him a chance to finish, the storm that brewed in him overboiling. Power rushes through his body, the scream of it echoing in his skull.

 

Helblindi finds his end in an explosion of white fire.

 

It takes his head straight off.

 

Thor stands, panting, suddenly aware of the quiet around him. It’s not perfectly silent as the gusts of wind whip his cape around his legs, and as large chunks of ice creak and protest, sliding down the mountain side. His battle with Helblindi has taken them away from the rest of the forces.

 

Somewhere beyond the murderous fury he felt when hearing them, Thor considers Helbildi’s last words. 

 

Loki, a product of infidelity of the queen, and coming to life more than a millennium later than he should. If what Helblindi said was true, at least. Was a man who knew he was about to die more prone to tell the truth or to lie? Thor was aware that he was showing Helblindi an unparalleled weakness, asking about the fate of seemingly nobody even as he was defeating a fellow king. Whatever Helblindi decided to say, it was intended as revenge. Thor saw as much as looked into his eyes as he killed him.

 

But he has no time to dwell on it now, that can come later.

 

He takes his bearing, glancing up to the stars for guidance and spins Mjolnir, rushing through the air back to his troops.

 

The battle was already toppling in Asgard’s favour even before Thor dispatched of Helblindi, and with the death of their king, the Jotuns crumble quickly, their resistance trickling down to nothing.

 

The cobalt blue sky of Jotunheim rumbles to the rhythm of Thor’s heartbeat, fast with battle fury first and then more steadily as satisfaction begins to sink in. 

 

He wants to see Loki now. 

 

* * *

 

A line of tents is set up near the Bifrost site, heavily guarded. The troops at the camp are not of lesser quality than those charging ahead to fight, which causes a tension that Loki feels everywhere he steps. These men and women long to charge into battle and instead they are left behind. It makes him nervous, even though Thor explained to him that such camps are always built, and this sacrifice of pride must always be taken by a part of the army. It’s not merely for his own benefit. An ambush front behind or a counter-invasion is always something to look out for.

 

But Tyr is there, keeping close to him, and Loki know that that  _ is  _ for his benefit.

 

The one-handed general seemed stoic when receiving his orders - stay behind, guard the king’s companion - but the same impatience that fills the camp seems to pour from him tenfold. 

 

“Thor was confident,” Loki decides to offer when Tyr’s pacing starts to resemble the angry stomping of a child. They are in the royal tent together, a sturdy structure that protects its inhabitants from the harsh cold of the outside with silk and furs. There is a table covered with maps and other devices meant for strategy that are unfamiliar to Loki, burning braziers and chairs and a settee scattered thorought. There is a separate space for sleeping too. Loki did not share it with Thor on the eve of the battle because Thor never went to retire.

 

“His Majesty was confident ever since he was fifteen years old,” Tyr replies and then stops, casting an unreadable look at Loki. Loki tries to weather it. It’s not even the blatant suspicion he is regarded with that bothers him, it’s simply Tyr’s presence. He’s large.

 

And he’s not Thor.

 

“But I can barely remember a time when that confidence was unfounded,” Tyr goes on to admit, unprompted.

 

Loki spends the next long while amusing himself by imagining Thor that young. He conjures up memories of himself at that age - they consist mostly of asking the Giantess a million and one question she couldn’t or didn’t want to answer. Strangely enough his imagination offers plenty, emboldened in small part by the stories Thor has told him, but more often it’s really flashes of neat thread that seem to linger around Loki’s thoughts, like a gentle hand guiding him towards the truth. 

 

Maybe he would find it unsettling if he weren’t already so used to it.

 

Being on Jotunheim feels odd. The air familiar, and so is the temperature, but he would exchange it for the sweltering heat of Asgard in an instant.

 

He wouldn’t - couldn’t - come back here permanently.

 

This thought stays with him even as the evening falls and the camp readies itself to sleep. He keeps on considering Tyr. He seems honest, and loyal. Loki grows increasingly curious to know what he thinks. Besides, thinking about this is easier than thinking about Thor, out there somewhere in the cold, battling Loki’s countrymen.

 

As Tyr settles down into a chair, not to sleep but to rest a little, Loki pulls his furs closer around himself and asks.

 

“Has he had many people like me, in his life?”

 

“Lovers? Not very many. Some when he was younger.”

 

“I’m not his-” The easy assumption is dredging up all of Loki’s old fears. 

 

“Certainly none of your kind, even though he has spent nearly a century travelling through Jotunheim.”

 

“He… never mentioned that.”

 

Tyr pauses, looking Loki over. It’s all he can do not to flinch under the scrutiny.

 

“No? I would think that you had that in common, knowledge of Jotunheim.”

 

Loki looks away, shivering involuntarily. Thor never did properly explain why he wanted Loki’s company quite so strongly. And through all their evenings spent together, why didn’t Thor talk about knowing Jotunheim so well?

 

But any thought of a plot still seems impossible. He knew nothing. He  _ was  _ nothing. His hunting stories couldn’t have any value, not if Thor traveled the realm himself. And despite the strangeness of their arrangement, if he is to be completely honest with himself, Loki has trouble believing Thor means him harm. Oh, he used to believe it. He used to believe it so strongly that the fear almost paralyzed him, but he has been doing so much better.

 

He tries to keep that in mind as he uneasily settles down to sleep on his cot. 


	11. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, would you expect this? Thank you for sticking around, it's great to finally be able to work on this thing.

Throughout his life, there had been many unfortunate instances where Loki had less than perfect control over his body and mind. Dizzy from hunger, delirious from pain, frightened to the point of choking and nearly passing out from the lack of air, but the sensation that wakes him now is unlike any other. 

 

Consciousness trickles in, but awareness of his body lags behind.

 

When it does, he finds he is standing. 

 

He doesn't remember ever getting up from his cot. All he recalls is tossing and turning fitfully as he tried to sleep and finally a cloud of exhaustion weighing him down as he dozed off. 

 

He’s in the middle of the tent, still in his sleep clothes. Daring to glance around, he spots Tyr snoring in his armchair. There's a fur tossed haphazardly over his shoulders and his chin bobs up and down in the rhythm of his slow snores. 

 

Loki should go back to bed. He  _ wants  _ to go to bed. There's nothing to do but wait for Thor. 

 

At the thought of Thor, he staggers. His upper body lunges forward while his legs protest, not following and he almost falls. He catches himself on one of the tent poles, hanging to it like a lifeline. What's happening to him? 

 

He can hear the wild howling outside and he can feel a ghost of its freezing bite on him already should he venture outside.

 

But  _ why _ ?

 

This is where he is supposed to be. Safe, with this bear of a general tasked to guard him while… while Thor slays his tormentors. It’s odd that Loki had so little thought for revenge, even as his king prepared to go to war precisely to get some. It was unspoken between them. Loki chose to pretend that Thor was simply war-hungry because to examine the real reason would be too much to bear.

 

Thor’s devotion remains the heaviest, scariest burder that Loki has ever born and he chooses to just close his eyes and pretend it doesn’t exist. 

 

Accepting it, he fears, might break him in ways that any tortures haven’t managed.

 

He remembers doing the same when he was a child and some story frightened him. He hid under the pelts, squeezing his eyes shut until stars burst over his vision and he could pretend there were no monsters.

 

Blaming his frazzled mind for all of this, he tries to go to bed.

 

And he can’t.

 

He can’t make himself take the few steps and lie down.

 

Eventually, his struggle wakes Tyr up. He lets out a startled snore and sits up, blinking until he spots Loki, standing there in his sleep tunic and pants.

 

“What are you doing up, lad?” he asks pleasantly enough, but the way he slowly gets to his feet makes Loki shiver. There is caution in the movement.

 

“Just couldn’t sleep,” Loki forces out. His lips feel numb. 

 

“Well, I could, while I shouldn’t,” Tyr replies and now the cheer in his voice is definitely forced. What does he think Loki is doing?

 

Running away?

 

_ Is  _ Loki running away?

 

“Why don’t you sit down?”

 

Loki nods because what is there to do? He braces himself and to his surprise, walks towards one of the chairs with ease. 

 

Breathing a sigh of relief, he goes to sit only to feel the pull again, propeling him forward.

 

And again. 

 

Except now he is having trouble recalling why it should be a problem. He doesn’t want to sit down, why should he?

 

He no longer fights his unruly limbs. He briefly forgot but he remembers now - there is someplace he needs to be. Thor won’t be angry, he will understand. He probably already knows that Loki has to do this, they simply forgot to talk about it, too busy preparing for the battle.

 

Smiling wryly, he turns towards the tent entrance. He best hurry. The sooner he goes, the sooner he will get back.

 

He is shocked to feel his arm grabbed and he turns, frowning. It’s Tyr. Loki tries to shrug him off, annoyed.

 

He needs to go now.

 

“Let me go, I need to-”

 

“You’re not going anywhere, Jotun,” Tyr says. To Loki, it sounds like a fly buzzing. “What is this? A trap? What did you-”

 

This can’t be. Loki needs to hurry, he doesn’t have time for this. He tries to shake Tyr’s grip again, barely budging the man. It’s been too long now, he has stood for too long, he needs to-

 

A lumpy chunk of ice forms around the fist of his free hand and he simply lashes out, sending Tyr down.

 

Finally. He’s free. And he can go.

 

* * *

 

The camp comes to view as Thor flies closer, a sleeping cluster of tents next to the large field marked by Bifrost. He has checked on the troops first, finding them in good condition and emboldened by the victory. Nothing was stopping him from returning here. He frowns as he locates the royal tent, squinting through the darkness at an odd shape that stands out against the snow.

 

He realizes what it is just a split second before he lands.

 

Bleeding from a gash at his temple and nearly blue from the cold, it’s Tyr.

 

Thor’s bellow wakes the camp.

 

-

 

The tent is empty but Thor feared as much from the second he spotted Tyr’s injuries. Guards had been posted and remained vigilant, but no one saw anyone coming.

 

Or going. 

 

“Your general,” Thor says slowly, looking at the gathered soldiers, “is attacked in the middle of your camp, in enemy territory, and you see  _ nothing _ ?”

 

If Thor thought what he felt looking at Helblindi was rage he doesn’t have a name for what he feels now.

 

Loki is  _ gone.  _

 

And Thor dragged him here. They could have stayed on Asgard forever, spending countless evenings in the warm breeze, eating grapes, but Thor only thought of revenge.

 

More millenia of life than he cares to count and he still makes the same mistakes.

 

He orders a search party with a few curt orders before spinning Mjolnir furiously and launching into the air, calling lightning. It crackles above his head and even though the light is too sharp and comes in bursts, it helps him scan the ground beneath.

 

_ Where is he? _

 

Talking to his soldiers, Thor spoke as though he was certain that an intruder ambushed Tyr and kidnapped the king’s companion, but now that he is alone, up in the air, he can admit to himself that he has doubts.

 

Tyr was still alive. No one else had been harmed. But perhaps it was Helblindi’s plot all along - provoke a war and then… then what? Take Loki back?

 

Thor thinks frantically about what impression his relationship with Loki could make on outsiders. What did his own friends think? They were wary, at the start. Fandral accused him… and so did Sif, in her own way.

 

But he just didn’t care. To him, having Loki by his side was so normal, so  _ right  _ that he paid no heed to any whispers or speculations. Did he make Loki a target?

 

_ There.  _ It’s barely visible but he spots a trail of disturbed snow and shoots towards it. It’s not hard to follow at all and he realizes with a start that it leads towards the ruins of the old palace.

 

It’s a structure he’s well familiar with, having spent time there in several lives. Sometimes he was even invited.

 

Helblindi’s seat of power was elsewhere, way north, but enough of this structure remained to stand out even in the rocky landscape of Jotunheim.

 

Was this home to Loki? Did it feel like home?

 

The fear that Loki simply fled sits like cold weight in Thor’s stomach. The evidence of it is compelling. 

 

Perhaps he merely became frightened of Tyr and lashed out. Thor considers that and relaxes marginally before his thoughts catch up and he shudders with guilt. That is not a scenario to be relieved about. 

 

So damnedly short-sighted. 

 

He lands softly when he gets to the palace. The footprints are visible, more so here where the old walls keep some of the wind away. Thor bends down to examine the trail.

 

He is certain the footprints belong to only one person. And judging by their size, they were not made by a fully grown Frost Giant.

 

For a shocking second he almost wants to turn around and leave. If this is what Loki wishes - to be left alone, to escape from Thor… hasn’t he promised not to force him? They might not be intimate but he keeps Loki close, always.

 

Is it hateful to him? Is there truly no hope for this life?

 

Should Thor just end it?


	12. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the editing is a little dodgy, I write this mostly at work.
> 
> So, what is happening here? Hehe.

It is not even the fear that things might go equally badly - or worse - in his next life that makes him reconsider.

 

It is the memories he has of Loki,  _ this  _ Loki. The times they spent together are nothing, a speck on the broad canvas of the long millennia that Thor has spent with his brother, but they have still found a place in his heart. Not an entirely warm, kind place - oh, he has warmth for Loki, but seeing the manifestations of his pain, the oddly broken innocence, quenching of the fire that usually drives him, still needles Thor in ways that he is not used to.

 

He can’t run. He can’t destroy this universe.

 

Not before he does this best to fix what has been broken. Even knowing it possibly can’t be done.

 

He carefully circles around broken pillars and piles of shattered stone blocks. It is a hard going on the uneven, frozen ground, the ever-present snow hiding sharp, jagged edges of ice or old stone. He doesn’t like the thought of Loki being here, all alone.

 

There is no sign of activity around the outer parts of the palace, but the ice and ruins make it hard to follow the tracks - if they are indeed tracks. Thor stares gloomily on the ground, unable to tell if he’s looking at imprints left by Loki’s feet or at a wind-disturbed snowbank.

 

Some hunter he is.

 

_ Tracker _ , he corrects himself. He is tracking Loki, not hunting him.

 

He decides that he is better off simply searching the whole palace and he goes about it methodically, circling inwards until he finds the throne room. It is almost unrecognizable, a dark hovel more than a place where royalty resides and welcomes guests.

 

And then there are the parts underground. Thor knows there is a maze of corridors carved into the frozen ground. What it used to host he doesn’t know but can hazard a guess - treasure, weapons, well-guarded secrets.

 

It takes him longer than he would like to find a viable entry - for his size - but finally he moves a large boulder out of the way and slips in. Mjolnir hums with steady power in his hand, lighting the way.

* * *

 

_ “What does this mean?” Loki asks, running a light hand over the newly finished weaving. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his mother shrug. _

 

_ “What do my visions ever mean?” _

 

_ Loki huffs, turning his attention back to the tapestry. It is obvious that it is about Thor, but he can’t figure out the content. To him, Thor is a solid, loud presence. The vision of him here is… vast - and not in the sense that his shoulders are vast, but Loki’s not thinking about that right now - and almost unraveled. Spinning through space perhaps? _

 

_ As though summoned by Loki’s thoughts, Thor walks in. Loki knows it is him even without turning; nobody else marches into the queen’s chambers that way. He remains with his back stubbornly turned as Thor greets Frigga, pretending to still study the tapestry’s baffling patterns, even if he’s really putting all his thoughts towards breathing evenly. _

 

_ And preferably not blushing. _

 

_ He fails that when Thor appears at his back, closer than he should. _

 

_ “What’s this?” he asks. Loki only stops himself from shuddering through sheer force of will. _

 

_ Thor is his brother. He’s an inappropriate fool but that does  _ not  _ mean that Loki will start on a path of madness with him.  _

 

_ No matter how desperately he wants to. _

 

_ Thor reaches past him, fingers trailing over the same path that Loki has touched. Loki is so focused on not thinking about how good it would feel if those fingertips were running down his body that he almost misses the abrupt shift in atmosphere. _

 

_ Thor snatches his hand back and steps away from Loki, looking at their mother. _

 

_ “What does this mean?” he asks, low and almost threatening. But this is their mother, of course he is not- _

 

_ Frigga watches him calmly. “Your brother asked the very same thing. Why don’t you two figure it out together?” _

 

_ -  
_

 

_ Three thousand years later, Thor tells him.  _

 

* * *

 

Almost as soon as he starts descending beneath the palace, Thor feels he is not alone. This is it. This is where Loki has fled to.

 

Or been taken to.

 

If it is the latter, Thor will paint the walls with the blood of those that touched him. It is not an empty threat, after all, he has done the exact same thing not even a day ago.

 

If it is the former… what is there that Thor can say to convince him to come back? What promises are left that he hasn’t made yet?

 

Has he broken them?

 

A pull, intuition maybe, or old knowledge of the bowels of many palaces and fortresses, leads him forward.

 

The deeper he goes, the warmer it gets and he has to stop to pull at the fur lining of his cloak that now sticks to his skin uncomfortably with sweat. He is deep enough that the ground is no longer frozen. Once or twice he crosses a thin, trickling stream of water. Even the black stone walls that close around him seem to be sweating.

 

And yet he doesn’t feel hopeless.

 

There is something here.

 

Loki is here.

 

Thor breaks into a run when the sound, almost too quiet and far away to hear, reaches his ears. He barrels through the narrow corridors until he is thrown into a large, cavernous chamber, the shock of it leaving him reeling - he feels like he’s just been spit out. Some of the underground pressure disappears and his ears pop. He looks up - the ceiling is so high is almost can’t see it in the dim light. It is nothing like the claustrophobic corridors that led him here.

 

And there is Loki, lying on the ground in the middle of the cavern, curled in on himself. Thor runs to him, dropping to his knees next to him. He’s not sure whether it would be wise to remain upright anyway as relief rushes through him

 

He is alive, that much Thor knows, but he is so still, the only motion being his quick breaths and the occasional pained whine passing his lips.

 

He has one arm pressed tightly over his eyes and with his other hand he seems to be shielding his ear, attempting the same one the other side with a shoulder pulled up high, neck craned.

 

“Loki?” Thor tries, quietly. 

 

There is no response at all. Belatedly perhaps, Thor checks the surroundings. 

 

No steps are forthcoming, no presence rising the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck.

 

They are alone. 

 

“Are you hurt? Did someone harm you?”

 

He carefully runs his hands over Loki’s body to check for any concealed injuries; he finds nothing. Slowly, so slowly, he then tries to get Loki to turn onto his back. Loki is mostly limp and lets himself be maneuvered but he keeps on covering his eyes and ears and protests wordlessly, in the same pitched whines, when Thor makes to pull his arms away.

 

He stops, considering it. Then, with mere thought, he quiets Mjolnir.

 

He expects the cavern to go completely dark without the hammer illuminating it at his command, but instead, a glow remains. He spends several useless minutes searching for the source of it before giving up and deciding to postpone the mystery until Loki is safe and preferably in the care of healers.

 

Lighting the way with Mjolnir only enough so that he can walk without tripping, he scoops Loki up into his arms.

 

He is grateful to find that this doesn’t seem to cause Loki any distress; as long as he can shield his eyes and ears, his state appears unchanged.

 

Only as Thor begins the long, tedious trek to the surface he realizes how numb he feels.

 

_ He found him _ . He found Loki. Hurt, but alive. 

 

None of it makes sense. The disappearance. The way Loki has found his way into that chamber - it must be of some significance. It could be anything, an old temple, a vault, a hiding place… 

 

A place of some power in itself, perhaps luring people into its grasp? Thor has seen things like that. It would certainly make sense for a malevolent spirit to latch onto a… a vulnerable mind.

 

It would make more sense than Loki just up and running away into the wilderness.

 

Thor has seen - and now feels - that Loki is barely dressed; only a tunic and loose trousers cover him. Were this a planned escape, he would have taken furs, food…

 

Unless Tyr scared him. Then he may have fled in fear, not thinking clearly.

 

His thoughts are the same maze that he now attempts to exit.

 

He will have to wait for Loki to wake and ask. And Tyr too, perhaps.

 

Once outside, he gratefully breathes in the fresh air, no matter how bitingly cold it is. Among other things, it helps to remind him of practical concerns. His doubts and fears have to wait.

 

First, they need to get to safety. 


	13. Bared

Eir is baffled.

 

“He is unharmed,” she says after a long while. “And his energy seems… better, livelier than the last time he was here.”

 

It is not terrible news, Thor supposes, but it also is not certainty. “Something must be wrong.”

 

“Something probably is. He’s awake. I almost wonder if...” she trails off and Thor bristles a little. If even she hesitates to say it, it cannot be good. “I wonder if he is simply choosing not to respond.”

 

Thor looks down at Loki’s prone form. Safely back on Asgard, stretched in soft clothes on top of the examination table, his eyes closed, breathing evenly. He  _ does _ look like he is merely resting, perhaps sleeping lightly. 

 

“What about his mind?”

 

The Soul Forge light shimmers, the strands of light above Loki’s head magnifying and changing colours.

 

“Hm.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Well… I do not see anything particularly wrong, though for his age… You see, we cannot quantify the mind, not really. A mind doesn’t have a size, but if it did, I would say his is large.”

 

Despite the situation, Thor’s lips quirk up in a smile. “You are calling him intelligent.”

 

“I am calling him experienced. But-”

 

Thor’s smile promptly disappears.  _ Experienced _ . What Loki has been through was not experience, it was torture. 

 

Thor is sick of being in the healing chambers, unwelcome thoughts making themselves known in the forefront of his mind.

 

“What is your recommendation?” he asks.

 

Eir sighs, waving the Forge away. “Time. And patience.”

 

* * *

 

Thor can be patient. He makes sure Loki is comfortable, fluffing up his pillows and checking his breathing. He looks peaceful. This time, Eir didn’t even protest when Thor picked Loki up and carried him to his own chambers.

 

He should be celebrating the victory with his men. There are feasts to honor the fallen held all over the realm and it would be right for him to attend, but he simply cannot. He needs to be here. He needs to wait for Loki to wake up.

 

With nothing to do but stare at him, Thor notices things. Loki truly doesn’t seem unconscious. It is not that he moves, per se, but there are subtle shifts. Changes in breathing. 

 

He looks like his eyes might flutter open any second.

 

“I...” Thor starts. If he is awake, he might listen. “I am sorry I failed to protect you. I wanted revenge and I merely put you in harm’s way.”

 

No reaction.

 

“Helblindi is dead. His army defeated. Sif and Fandral stayed behind to oversee installment of a new rule. One that will be, for the lack of better word, dependant on Asgard.”

 

It very well might not be what Loki wants to hear. His relationship to his home realm is complicated, Thor knows it. It would be hard for anyone to love their home if they only knew lukewarm acceptance at best, and unimaginable cruelty at worst from their fellow countrymen.

 

“Tyr said you woke up in the middle of the night and said you needed to leave.”

 

Thor takes Loki’s hand in his own. Perhaps it is just the weight of his fingers, but it almost feels like Loki is holding his hand back.

 

“What were you doing in that cave?”

 

Thor sucks in a breath as he forces himself not to move when Loki squeezes his hand. This he definitely didn’t imagine.

 

“Loki?”

 

Another squeeze. And then, to his shock, Loki simply rolls onto his side, blindly reaches out for a pillow and drags it over his head.

 

Thor’s mouth opens and closes, slowly. This reminds him of his sleepy or hungover brother, deciding he just  _ will not  _ get up yet. Depending on the situation, Thor may have chosen to sleep in with him, or to tease and torment him by throwing the curtains wide open and singing on the top of his lungs, or, if he was feeling particularly daring, a splash of cold water got involved.

 

He goes with the first option this time.

 

He didn’t realize how much the war preparations and the battle itself - along with his fear for Loki - exhausted him. An afternoon nap turns into several days worth of sleep, with occasional breaks for food. 

 

He calls the healers in to administer nutrition to Loki’s sleeping body, but he notices something odd. When he is awake for food and then visits the bathroom or steps out to deal with some urgent matter of the state, he returns to his plates emptier than he has left them.

 

It lasts for over two months. Loki blatantly moves around the chambers when Thor is gone. He washes himself and eats and then goes right back to bed, the evidence of that is clear. Thor never sees him with his eyes open. Never gets a reply to anything he says, but occasionally Loki will squeeze his hand or roll close to him at night, throwing an arm over Thor’s chest.

 

Thor has no idea what is happening. If Loki’s pain has caught up to him, why is he initiating touch? Why has he made himself at home in Thor’s chambers and his bed?

 

If he is mad at Thor, why is he taking his hand for reassurance?

 

When Thor returns to his chambers one day to find Loki sitting on the bed, looking right at him, it feels like his heart stops for a second.

 

Loki’s expression is guarded, but calm.

 

“Are you alright?” Thor finally forces past his lips.

 

Loki nods. “I needed time.” His voice is a little raspy and he clears his throat. No wonder, after two months of not speaking.

 

“Can I...” Thor asks, gesturing vaguely between them.

 

“I am not afraid of you, Thor, you can come here.” Loki’s reply is accompanied by a smile. 

 

“You seem different,” Thor notes.

 

“I am different.”

 

The situation rings one warning bell after another. Is Loki possessed? Is this an impostor? But there is something about the way Loki watches him that is closely familiar.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I found something of mine.”

 

Truth of his heritage, perhaps? Thor never got the chance to tell him what he had learned about it.

 

“You will forgive me if I am a little lost on the details. It is not the easiest thing in the world, to come to so much knowledge at once. I had to shut myself off from the world to sort through it.”

 

When the words sink it, the shock feels like plunging into icy water. “Sort through what?” he whispers.

 

“Through all the memories. Through all  _ my _ memories.”

 

There is no escaping the truth. The calm, calculated gaze that Loki regards him with is not one he knows from this life, but one he knows from many others. The tone of his voice, even his diction; he seems like a stranger to what Thor has known for these past two years, but not a stranger altogether.

 

Thor slowly lowers himself to the ground.

 

Loki… knows. He  _ remembers _ .

 

Thor is not sure he is capable of hosting the feeling that this realization brings.

 

The one reason he kept doing everything over and over. The one reason that he did not go mad. He now knows everything.

 

He hears rustling of the bedding and then soft footsteps. Loki cups his face, forcing him to look up. 

 

“All those memories and I don’t know what is going on in that thick skull of yours right now,” Loki whispers to him, smiling.

 

“I love you,” Thor rasps, dimly aware that his eyes are overbrimming with tears.

 

“Shh. I know, I know. I love you too.” He says it so easily, like it is obvious, wiping Thor’s tears away with his thumbs even though he seems amused by them. Then he slaps Thor’s shoulder, hard enough to sting.

 

“You killed me several times!”

 

Thor laughs through his tears. “And you killed me.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes, then grows serious again, kneeling to face Thor. “How do you do it? How do you… separate yourself? There is so much in my head right now. I am young and scared and hateful in parts, in other parts I possess so much knowledge and wisdom and I am… so calm.”

 

“I remember slowly, each time I am young. My oldest memories are faded. I… focus on the present, whatever it might be. To come to it all at once, I don’t know how you manage it.”

 

Loki is leaning closer, looking deep in thought as he runs his hands carefully over Thor’s arms. “I couldn’t manage it at first. It hurt. It was like spinning through space at the speed of light. And I was scared.”

 

“It has been two months since it happened,” Thor shares and Loki nods.

 

“Later on I was able to tear myself out of the thoughts to focus briefly on the present, open my eyes, but I couldn’t talk to you yet. It would have been too taxing.”

 

“That’s alright. I have waited for you for longer.”

 

Loki looks almost bashful then. “Ah, yes. This wretched turn of a life.” He looks down, appearing lost in thought for a bit. Thor waits, heartbeat still not back to normal. He can barely believe that this is happening. “Would you believe me when I say it still hurts, despite all that I have come to know?”

 

“Of course I believe that,” Thor whispers.

 

“I was so weak. I did not even have my name.”

 

“You were not  _ weak _ .”

 

“I was. Now I am stronger. Now I look at all my experience, my strength and the true terror of it fades away.”

 

“You don’t have to- I don’t expect things to be different.”

 

Loki throws his head back, laughing. “Oh, Thor. Things will be different, I promise. I  _ want _ them to be different.”

 

With a clear-eyed gaze, Loki looks at him, cupping his chin before pressing a kiss to Thor’s lips, bold, demanding. Thor kisses him back with a feeling like he has just come alive for the first time in two thousand years. It is like he can feel the blood pumping in his veins, heating up with the feeling of it, the talented tongue sneaking past his lips, fingers tugging at his hair, the scent so familiar he would need to be dead not to know it enveloping him.

 

When they break off, he is breathing hard. Loki is too.

 

“It is a good thing I didn’t know how much I missed this,” Loki laughs. 

 

The change is still shocking to Thor. Loki looks the same as  _ this  _ Loki, a little leaner despite his training and good food, fresh faced. Despite having all the knowledge of his own past lives, Thor can barely comprehend that Loki does the same. 

 

It is exciting and frightening at the same time. To some extent, Thor was used to acting as though consequences didn’t matter sometimes; he could always start again.

 

But now-

 

He freezes.  _ Will _ this happen again?

 

How did it happen in the first place?

 

“What were you doing in the cave?”

 

Loki pulls back, smoothing his tunic, pausing before speaking. Thor recognizes the habit; knows that he is about to be treated to a very carefully worded reply.

 

“It is not a cave, Thor, it is a ritual chamber. Sacred to the Jotnar. Well, sacred until they decide to ransac it and move to a different place. However… I felt a pull once we arrived on Jotunheim. It grew into compulsion that I could not fight. Remind me to give my apologies to Tyr.”

 

Thor impatiently gestures for him to continue. 

 

“It was a spell, bound to an artefact. I used the artefact and reclaimed all my memories.”

 

Sighing, Thor shakes his head. “A succinct retelling. Now tell me what the Hel it was and what did you do.” 

 

Loki pulls away and stands up, walking towards the balcony, stopping just before the threshold. “I found out why you remember. And I repeated the process with myself. It went partially awry, which is why we lost two thousand years and I got raped by a dozen of Frost Giants, but other than that...”

 

Thor flinches. Loki speaks of it so coldly now, but he said it himself. It still hurts him.

 

“What is it that makes me remember?”

 

“You have encountered the Infinity gems several times now.” Thor nods. He has. Thanos is a threat that he habitually looks out for, as are some others that he has known to lust for the powerful objects.

 

“There used to be more of them. Before the universe was fully formed as we know it. Some of them shattered and parts of them can still be found. They are not as… directly powerful as the untouched ones, which is why they mostly remain in obscurity. You have a piece in you.”

 

Thor is taken aback. A piece of an Infinity gem? How is that even possible?

 

“They exist beyond time, don’t they,” he guesses. That’s how he would be always born with it inside of him.

 

“Beyond time, space, beyond anything we consider reality. I found the matching piece and I was able to prepare it for taking, but it was fickle. So I created a safe hiding place, ready to take it in my next life, but the process weakened me, so instead of being born and growing up in the palace, Helblindi tossed me to the wolves so to speak and I didn’t come close enough to trigger the spell, not until you took me there.”

 

“But you are so much younger than me. You were late.”

 

Loki shakes his head. “It won’t repeat. It shouldn’t. I do suggest we die at the same time if we can manage it.”

 

Thor bristles. “You are two hundred years old. I am two  _ thousand _ .”

 

Loki pours himself some wine and sits down. “No, I am not. And neither are you for that matter.”

 

Before Thor can protest, Loki goes on. “As if I would want to be here without you anyway.”

 

Thor, who has for the past couple of minutes considered getting up from the floor, sits back down heavily again.

 

Loving Loki has been a certainty in his lives. The thread binding all of his actions together. And Loki loved him back so often, he knew that. The times they grew up together, their brotherhood stronger than anything he could imagine, the passion that often came, it was undeniable how much Loki cared for him, despite the much darker periods of their relationship.

 

But to hear him say these things so openly; to not only proclaim his love in no uncertain terms, but to follow it up with statements like these. And his  _ actions _ . The decision made that he wants to live out an eternity. With Thor.

 

“I don’t need to tell you how much power you have now,” Thor says, trying to keep his voice light.

 

“Over you, you mean?” Loki teases but Thor refuses to joke about this. He gets up, finally and joins Loki.

 

“Over everyone.”

 

“I can’t promise you that I won’t ever use that power,” Loki sighs. “You know how I am. I might get bored. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see what you have done. We were always together,  _ always _ . You could have tried anything,  _ been  _ anything. But you always went to me.”

 

Thor is helpless to do anything but bare his soul. He has said things to Loki in the past, when he decided to reveal the madness that was the cycle he lives through, but not like this, not when Loki saw the span of it in his own mind. “I couldn’t do it without you. I wouldn’t. You make it worth it.”

  
Loki smiles wryly. “Let’s hope this holds true when we  _ both _ remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-daaaah :)


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, two years later I finish this where I started it, on vacation in Croatia!
> 
> Thank you everyone who stuck around and kudosed and commented and special thanks to the amazing [Angeline](http://angeline-farewell.tumblr.com/), who was not only vocal in her support of this work, but also drew multitude of gorgeous art pieces illustrating it! You're the best.

 

Thor is four years old when Frigga presents him with a small bundle.

 

“Darling, this is your new baby brother.”

 

“Loki,” Thor exclaims, his high-pitched child voice waking the infant. Frigga pauses.

 

“Yes, your brother Loki.”

 

“I love him,” Thor giggles, reaching a clumsy yet uncharacteristically gentle hand to touch Loki’s ruddy, plump cheek.

 

Loki who had been peacefully sleeping frowns at the touch and wakes, his watery green eyes squinting up at Thor. Frigga holds her breath; Loki has been fussy and easily disturbed. Thor has taken the rather sudden appearance of a new sibling well, but she is not sure how well he would fare in the face of loud crying.

 

But Loki only blinks, letting out a soft sound, looking up at Thor.

 

Thor beams at him.

 

“Hello.”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve never said,” Loki murmurs. He’s in the middle of his growth spurt while Thor is already tall, his bulk struggling to catch up with the length of his limbs.

 

They are lying panting on a mossy ground, having just swam the length of the lake and back. Here, the heat of the summer is bearable, the scent of water sharp and clear, the banks shrouded in shade of tall evergreens.

 

“Said what?”

 

“About… before.”

 

Thor is smiling up at the sky. “I was waiting.”

 

“I can barely concentrate,” Loki admits, sounding frustrated. Thor noticed. Loki usually excels in his lessons, but lately he’s been constantly berated for inattention.

 

Thor rolls to his side, pressing a calming hand to the middle of Loki’s chest. 

 

“It won’t last long,” he promises. “Before you know it, you will already remember all the things they teach us.”

 

A smirk curls Loki’s lips - already he is thinking of ways to mess with their tutors’ heads. 

 

“You shouldn’t give us away,” Thor tells him. “I want to enjoy this. I am glad you are here and not on Jotunheim.”

 

The mirth disappears from Loki’s face and he seems to go far away, inside of himself.

 

“I’ve grown up there without you. It’s such an odd place...”

 

“Do you miss them?”

 

“No, I… I don’t think I do. Even now, when I remember what made me do this, join you like this and when I think about how I’ve lived, most of all...I am your brother.”

 

The words wind around Thor’s heart, squeezing.

 

“It is like that for me too,” he forces out. Loki must hear the strain in his voice and turns to him, propping himself up on an elbow.

 

He mirrors Thor’s previous touch, placing a hand at Thor’s chest. Where Thor meant the gesture to ground, Loki’s seems to say something entirely different. Rousing. Enticing.

 

“Perhaps we should wait until you remember more,” Thor suggests half-heartedly. 

 

“I don’t want to wait,” Loki breathes against his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Thor is returning from a successful hunt, two rabbits and several pheasants hanging off the string he has thrown over his shoulder. He unloads his spoils, stretching and groaning as his muscles protest the long day. Getting old is always a fuss and he is glad to have retired here, deep into the highlands, far from Asgard’s capital. 

 

Stepping into the cabin, he pauses.

 

And smiles.

 

Something sharp and herby smelling is brewing over the hearth. Several of the cupboards are open and have been rummaged in.

 

“You are getting too old for your wandering,” Thor says and Loki emerges from the bedroom, such as it is in such a small, wooden cabin, huffing at him.

 

“And you are too old for living like a poor hermit.”

 

“I will make you a rabbit stew that no palace kitchens in all the Nine realms could ever produce.”

 

“Ambitious,” Loki fires back but his good mood is visible in his sharp smile. His hair has more white in it than it did when Thor last saw him, even though it hasn’t been that long. He knows his own hair is completely silver now.

 

When Thor’s rabbit stew is eaten and Loki’s liquored version of mulled wine is drank, they settle by the fire.

 

“This is when I would choose to tell you all about our lives,” Thor murmurs. “But this time you know everything.”

 

“You almost sound disappointed,” Loki snorts and continues before Thor can protest that he isn’t. “But isn’t there still so much to talk about? Times when we weren’t together? Plans to make for our next life?”

 

Warmth spreads through Thor that has nothing to do with drink and a good meal. He settles more comfortably, stretching his feet to warm them, and reaches for his brother’s hand.

 

“Well then, trickster, tell me of your tricks.”


End file.
